Pocket Change
by Sharon R
Summary: Luka and Carter struggle against all odds to survive in the Congo. Who will live? Who is watching? Adventure, angst, maximum suspense. Reads like a novel! See also the SEQUELS, Pocket Change 2 and 3. Some graphic violence. NOT SLASH.
1. Welcome to the Third World

_**POCKET CHANGE**_

_**Story by Sharon R. based on characters created by Warner Brothers Television for the television drama, ER.  
**__**The author of this fiction has not received, nor ever will receive any monetary profit from this story. This is for personal enjoyment only.**_

_**This fiction was conceived and written in early 2003 after spoilers indicated that Carter and Kovac would be traveling to the Congo. Other than that bit of information, it was totally written spoiler free. Any similarities to the ER episode "Kisangani" are coincidental and surprising to the author. It is a completely different story than the one depicted on ER in May of 2003. The story builds in intensity and does have some disturbing moments. The author, with connections to cultural geographers from that area of the world, did extensive research on the Congo. Cliffhangers aplenty ensue!**_

**_(The Pocket Change series continues with Pocket Change 2: A Game of Cards, and the final installment of the trilogy, Pocket Change 3, due in early 2005)_**

_**Chapter One  
**__**Welcome to the Third World**_

_**  
PROLOGUE**_

_Blindfolded, hands tied behind their backs, they are led on a terrifying hike through unknown terrain, the unpredictable gnarly underbrush tripping them up. Sometimes they are helped up. Sometimes not. Forbidden to talk, they have to rely on other senses to keep them afoot. Luka strains to keep track of Carter's breathing and faint, restrained sounds he makes just to assure himself they are still together. _

_The group of marchers halts twice when Carter falls and becomes ill. He is sick to his stomach, Luka knew this would happen. When he begs to check on his friend, he is pummeled to the ground with a blow to his midsection. After a couple of hours, the swishing through the jungle growth and muted thud of feet hitting rocks and petrified wood suddenly stops and they are forced to their knees. The men are pushed down, as though their faces could get any lower to the ground, feeling the thick overgrowth swipe and punish their already frayed and bug bitten skin. Are they together? Is this the end? _

_They hear voices behind them and a language not recognizable to either. When the voices are replaced by the metal clicking sounds of guns, they fear the worst and crouch lower, hanging their heads as if to bury them in the soil of the jungle. Carter starts shaking – he can't stop. He tries to but terror has taken over his ability to control his body. Luka's breathing becomes labored as he grits his teeth in fear and anger, saliva stringing down from his mouth mixing with his blood and sweat dripping to the ground. Is that whimpering or someone struggling? They are no longer able to define if the very quiet sounds of fear they are making belong to themselves or the other. They have reached a moment of utter silence. Then, in synchronization, they are deafened by gun blasts and a simultaneous painful crack to the head._

**DAY ONE**

Luka Kovac and John Carter, emergency room physicians from Cook County Hospital in Chicago, arrived in the Democratic Republic of Congo as volunteer doctors with _Alliance de Medecines Internationale,_ an organization that spends time in third world and developing countries. The Congo – definitely third world. It is a country that has seen better days, though not for generations. The main cash crop is diamond mining. The local government? Definitely **not **democratic, although one might argue that the politics of it is as economically profitable as the diamond trade. It is a region strife with boarder wars and of a geographical topography and climate that is as inviting to the rebels as it is to the depravity it incurs on the human soul. These souls in the Congo are driven to survive yet are constantly in conflict with each other and nature, ignorant to the reality that these two parallel battles will never merge to claim either goal. The official language is French. Unofficially, Lingala, along with 200 other languages and dialects. In short supply are medical professionals and medicines.

Kovac has had experience with this organization having volunteered previously in and around his Croatia and Bosnia. Carter, however, is completely new to this experience in more ways than one and hopped along for the ride in hopes of getting as far from Chicago and the people there as possible, ignorant himself to life outside modern medicine.

The pair was greeted at the airport by Sean Griffin, the organization representative, and Joseph Bisango, the cab driver/translator/host. Sean is a slight but physically strong man from Ireland. Not a doctor, but a man who has spent the better part of his life skirting danger both at home and abroad. The smaller dark skinned man, Joseph, spoke with a French accent, and seemed to wear a permanent smile. He eagerly took the doctors' bags and loaded them into the Jeep. Noticing the foreigners' discomfort with the heat, he explained, "It is the wet season until the end of June. Don't let the heat fool you. Soon you will be complaining of the rains."

It was a tedious drive to the main office in Kinshasa, the capital. Along the way the men were silent as their eyes couldn't help but stare out of the Jeep at the primitive conditions that passed for homes. Corrugated tin – four walls and a roof for the lucky ones. The few but unmistakable hotels catering to dignitaries and foreign media stuck out among the filth of the urban conditions. Carter nearly fell out of the Jeep unable to take his eyes off one little boy – his malnourished abdomen protruding, his eyes sunken – hauling water in an old gas can almost half his size. Children wandered aimlessly through the streets, some performing jobs or chores, others – little ones not more than 4 or 5 years old – existing. Just existing. Luka had seen this before, in his war torn Croatian homeland. He knew the looks in the children's eyes, and in Carter's.

When they arrived at the little office, Carter complained of the oppressive heat and removed his outer shirt to reveal a t-shirt emblazoned with _Cornell University, State University of New York College of Veterinary Medicine _in big red letters. Sean and Joseph looked at each other and took a deep breath, together rolling their eyes.

Sean asked, "Dr. Carter, did you read the literature from the U.S. State Department in your packet?"

Carter uselessly wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. "Yeah, I took a look at it on the plane. Why?"

Luka, looking embarrassed pointed to his colleague's chest. "Your shirt. **_Vet_** school?" Luka smiled coyly and shook his head just a bit before saying, as though he were sharing a secret, "It's not exactly within guidelines."

Carter was obviously puzzled by the critique of his choice of clothing. "What? It's Cornell – the most prestigious vet school. Harder to get into, you know, than med school. My sister graduated from there." Carter was oblivious to the concern.

Sean cleared his throat, realizing that another newbie had arrived and his work was just beginning. "There are certain items of clothing", he began with his Irish brogue, "that make you stand out as an American – from a distance. People here associate all Americans with wealth and greed. You might as well paint a bull's eye on your wallet there in your back pocket." Carter looked down at his shirt and gave the men a puppy look of innocence, as he took it off, turned it inside-out and put it back on.

Sean gave the men their medical supplies before heading back out to the Jeep. "Joseph here will take you back into the hills to the clinic where you will be working. You will be staying with his family in his village of Ikela and he will escort you back and forth to the clinic. You'll undoubtedly encounter checkpoints. It's to be expected." Both doctors stood stationary watching the short statured Irishman bustle about as he gathered what provisions they would need for the clinic. Sean sounded almost like a tour guide delivering the speech for the hundredth time, totally unaffected by his own words. "But you have all of your papers, every thing is in order, and," he smiled for the first time, "you have my good friend, Joseph."

Carter looked concerned, but ready for the challenge. Luka picked up on this and chimed in, "Sure. I've seen this before."

Sean gave Luka a big pat on the back, "I bet you have, Dr. Kovac. But your reality here is AIDS, malaria, ebola, TB, cholera, hemorrhagic fever, malnutrition and simple lack of supplies. The only thing getting in the way of modern medicine are those rebels over there on that hill," he pointed to the mountains in the east, "on the other side of those lakes," he rotated his body north without putting his outstretched arm down, "and in those jungle areas ahead of you."

Carter quipped, "Geez, surprised you left cannibalism off the list!" There was little to no laughter as Sean and Luka exchanged uncomfortable smiles.

Sean gave back, "You really didn't read the paper work, did you? Actually, the UN is investigating credible claims of cannibalism that took place in January of this year. It's all there in your packet." Carter sat down in the back seat, unable reach a logical retort to that announcement. "Now, we'll be in touch." Sean stood back tipping his hat to the men. "Off you go."

As the doctors settled into what little space was left unoccupied by the supplies in the Jeep, Sean reassured them. "When you get to the clinic you will understand why you are so desperately needed. Look around at the shear beauty God has given us here and of the people of this land. They are the ones who you will remember when you return to your big city hospital. Their faces will forever be with you, as will the difference you will make in their lives. I will see you in a few days."

Through the downtown streets there seemed to be no traffic rules. The two hung on as Joseph zipped around corners, narrowly missing taxi cabs and people on bikes. The smell of air pollution was overpowering. Smoke, exhaust, sewage and a conglomeration of odors not easily identifiable. Catching a ride is exactly what people did to get around. Men, women and children willfully packed the outsides of trucks and dilapidated buses barely hanging on, making mass transit an art. They didn't slow down as they drove right by the large city hospital. Carter spun his head sideways watching the large building as they sped out of site. Obviously not their assignment. The journey would take more time.

As Joseph drove out of the city he veered off the uneven roads and onto the archaic ones. Ahead of them was a vast backdrop of brilliant greens and yellows. They were heading into a time taken from the history books and were allowed to view it past photographs and sketches. As they drove north along the Congo River, the abundant vegetation enveloped them and their narrow roads. Rubber, banana, coconut palm and plantain trees. Luscious tall timber trees drew their eyes up to the skies. Teak, ebony, African cedar, mahogany, iroko and redwood. The rain forest of their imaginations became reality as the sounds and sites of the tropical birds and native animals sped by.

There were two checkpoints manned by militia. The first was a simple matter of showing papers. Joseph purposely slowed ahead of the men in uniforms and guns to speak with the doctors. "Get out your papers, and don't speak unless they ask a question."

Luka asked matter-of-factly, "are these men friend or foe?" Carter looked nervously at the group ahead of them, then back at the two men who he instantly considered his only friends.

"This should be no problem. I know these men," Joseph was unconcerned, "but you cannot always tell if they are militia friendly to the government or rebels from one of the border countries. Either of you speak French?"

Carter mentioned that he had taken French in high school and college then proudly attempted a fractured sentence. Joseph slowed to nearly a stop, turned around and over his sun glasses looked Carter squarely in the face. "You need to not speak French at the check points. At all. Do not attempt it." As Joseph stepped on the gas to inch them through the check point, Luka struck up a conversation with his host in flawless French. The two laughed and, as the paper work was glanced at and returned to the men, Joseph drove off continuing his lengthy discussion with Luka – in French. Carter sunk down in the back seat, took a deep breath and made a mental note of the days left in this trip.

The second check point was a bit more complicated as the men were asked to exit the vehicle and bags were inspected. Joseph obviously was not as familiar with these men. He and Luka did all of the talking, what little of it there was. One soldier with a scar that ran from his ear to his mouth reached into Carter's bag and was amused as he pulled out an expensive, but useless cell phone. He held it up as entertainment for his comrades, put it in his own pocket, and waived the Jeep on through. Before Carter could say a word Luka shushed his intentions. "Sit still and don't say a word."

In Mbandaka the trio stopped to refuel and gas up. Looking around Carter decided this smaller city wouldn't be so bad. However, before he knew it they were back in the crowded jeep, back on the unnerving, bumpy roads heading east. Hours passed before Joseph finally turned into a little town comprised of no more than 20 buildings. Ikela - their home for the next couple of weeks or so. Having stopped once more to refuel the vehicle from the gas cans strapped to the back, the doctors were exhausted and sore from the rough journey. The road ended there at the town, and facing the visitors as they completed their trek was a building that reminded Carter of the quaint church in the TV show, _Little House on the Prairie_. He half expected the school bell to ring and a dozen nineteenth century children to come bounding down the steps.

They had arrived at Joseph's home. Compared to the other houses in the village, this one comprised of at least six rooms was large and elegant, yet simple. They looked around at their temporary home and town. Humble but comfortable. The voices inside the house told them that children were present, and they were joyful. Three kids and a woman, Joseph's wife, Toomay, came out to greet the men, throwing their arms around Joseph. He embraced the woman while being tackled by the three children, all so happy to have him back home at the end of the day.

Luka gave Carter a nudge as he stood staring at the little church. "It's probably a Catholic church," Luka told him. Luka was unloading the Jeep of their luggage. "About half of the country is Catholic."

"What's the other half?" Carter whispered back.

"Little of this, little of that." Luka couldn't resist the little jab. "It's in the literature." He came prepared and expected as much from Carter.

Carter spun a three-sixty taking in the view of what now would be his temporary home. Over the roofs of the homes across the street he looked down into the next town over in the valley and saw the hospital with the big red cross painted on the roof. Pointing in that direction he quizzed his host. "Joseph, can we walk to the clinic from here?"

Joseph came back out of his house to get one more load of the doctors' belongings. "That hospital? Yes. But that is not where you will be working, Dr. Carter."

Carter was confused. Not quite sure of what he had gotten himself into. "What do you mean? There's another clinic?" An annoying fly buzzed his face, his waving hands doing little to ward it off.

Luka came out to see what was holding the two up. "What's the matter?" He could see Carter's impending disappointment cross his face. He grabbed the fly, held it between his fingers and crushed it all with the savvy of experience.

"I thought you said we'd be working in a clinic? Joseph tells me that we're not."

Joseph seemed as though he was getting some sort of sick, sarcastic humor from this. "I didn't say that. I just said that you wouldn't be working at the hospital." It was the same every time. The doctors come with great expectations and are less than humbled by the reality.

Luka decided that it was a good time to clue the young doctor in. "We are actually going to be working up in the jungle clinic. It's a first responder clinic. From there we will refer cases down to the hospital in town or even Kinshasa." He went on to further explain that since Luka was an experienced volunteer, they put them where they were needed most.

Now Carter wished he had read more. "And this clinic is where? And what staff and supplies will we have?" This was getting to be something he was not expecting.

"No travel brochures for this place." Joseph told them, "Not sure your Triple-A knows it exists."

Carter put his hand up to stall any further mention of the hell he was picturing. To Joseph, this was an everyday thing. To Carter it was more like a bad day in the sewers of Chicago. Putting down the strong box of meds, he sat down and took a deep breath. "Someone needs to tell me what the hell I'm doing here. Now."

Luka and Joseph looked at each other almost gambling to see which one would give Carter the news. Joseph took it upon himself to describe the clinic in the jungle. Not much for supplies, and the building was shabby at best. "You are safe here, and at the clinic itself," he told the doctors, "but in between is danger. There are rebels; there is government militia. It's the rebels you have to watch out for, if you can tell them apart. There are at least nine different factions fighting for control of my country."

Carter stood now, paying attention like nobody's business. "We have to drive there everyday through that?"

"Maybe not." Joseph had quieted his voice so as to separate their conversation from his family life behind the thin walls of the little house. "There are two native women there – nurses – who will help you. But they do not always stay there through the night. You will be seeing patients of all shapes and sizes, most from deep within the jungle areas. Any patient that has to be admitted will have to be transported down here. However, there are times that I will not be able to get there with all the rain. If that happens you will have to stay behind until the roads open up."

"Wait a minute," Carter digested, "if the nurses don't stay the night, why would we be safe staying behind with a patient?"

"There is always somebody watching you. Somebody you cannot see." Joseph was quite serious. "The people who use the clinic are friends and family of rebels _or _militia, sometimes they themselves are fighters. There is always some faction who will come to their aid if need be. The nurses belong to a village of one sect. They do not feel safe there alone at night. But if you were there with a patient, somewhere you would have protection. But alone? I cannot guarantee that. Your supplies, the building are all valuable to everyone who lives here. But you are expendable in certain situations.

"What about helicopters? Why can't we chopper the patients out?" Luka asked.

"Like I said before," Joseph's voice became even more passive, "You are safe here. And the clinic is in a very safe place. But in between once you are off the road, particularly, the danger is quite high. The rebels will shoot at anything above them. Choppers cannot come in."

Luka and Joseph joined the rest of the family inside the house, leaving Carter sitting on the strong box contemplating his short term future.


	2. Forgiveness and Regret

**POCKET CHANGE  
by Sharon R.**

_**Chapter Two  
**__**Forgiveness and Regret**_

The heavy morning dew mixed with the sweat beginning to trickle down Luka's face as he woke to the rising sun. Hot already, and the full day in front of him. Here they were, deep in the rainforest, in the rainy season, and no rain. At this point he would have gladly welcomed a shower. He looked over at Carter's cot and saw what looked like a frat boy hung over from a long night of partying.

"Carter, wake up. It will be time to leave for the clinic pretty soon."

Carter rolled over and rubbed the crust from his eyes. "Did you actually sleep?" he whined. His back ached from bouncing off the wooden supports of the cot and his stomach rumbled from hunger.

The two men spilled out of their cots and slowly, with great discomfort, straightened themselves to an upright standing position. Wading past the mosquito netting draped over their cots, they could see Joseph through the screen already gassing up the Jeep for the trip into the jungle. They cleaned up at the pot of water Toomay had placed out for them the night before, and put on clean shirts. Not much of a help. The jungle humidity had even claimed the freshness from their laundered and neatly folded clothes.

So far their brief morning together found them exchanging few words. Nothing new. The cordiality they emoted on the nearly 25 hours and 11,300 miles of flight from Chicago to London to Johannesburg to Kinshasa was stretched, but within their limits of personal space. The two doctors were worlds apart in spirit lately– almost laughable that they would share the next few weeks in the same confines of a home and clinic in one of the most volatile of third world countries.

They fit right in. They just didn't know it.

Toomay had a morning meal laid out for them of very strong, but good, coffee, Chapati – a flat unleavened fried bread - fried plantains and yams. Luka found it most appetizing. Carter nibbled politely and loaded up on the coffee. He'd have to get used to the food.

The three men took off in Joseph's truck for the first day at the clinic. The drive was not terribly long, but it was extremely uncomfortable: both on the body and mind. Joseph was a different person on this leg of the trip. He sat rigid while driving, looking uneasily from side to side.

The dirt road wound around treed areas and dipped into wet, marshy spots spewing mud into the Jeep and on its passengers. The skies quickly darkened as the rains finally appeared. Joseph had tied tarps over the supplies to keep them dry, but the doctors were not so fortunate.

Joseph became more alert when a group of soldiers walking towards them in two columns motioned for them to stop. He spoke with them in yet a third language: Lingala. Patting one of them on the back, the translator/guide seemed to introduce the two doctors, who nodded and smiled nervously. After a few tense minutes, they drove off.

"Don't look back." Joseph caught Carter as he was about to turn around. "They are rebels."

Joseph called them "unfriendlies". He drove on with a bit more speed making the bumps on the dirt road that much more painful. "Those men are rebels, but I know them. They cannot be trusted, but I have never had problems with them."

"You know all kinds of people here," Carter spoke up over the grind of the engine.

"I have to live here. I have to survive among them." Joseph reasoned. "Working with medical aid - it's kind of a dance we do. None of us like the music, but as long as we don't step on each other's toes we can all share the dance hall, only I usually have to let them lead."

There were no more man-made stops but Mother Nature had a say. The truck got stuck twice on the road which washed out easily in the rains. "Is the road ever impassible?" Luka worried aloud.

Joseph explained that the road could become too wet and slick to be drivable, but that it is a temporary situation. The sun usually makes an appearance and dries it out enough within a day. However, the doctors would have to stay at the clinic until he could get there. "I tell you this with great hesitation and caution." Joseph spoke as loud as he could over the thud of the tires as they smacked into the roots and rocks of the road. "If we ever get stuck out here, there is a creek to the south, just to our right. You can follow it upstream to the clinic. But I repeat to you that you are safe in my village, you are safe at the clinic. You are **_not_** safe in between. You must stay with me and do what I say."

The two doctors listened intently, not wanting to miss any of this experienced man's instructions.

The trees and jungle quickly morphed into a clearing. Ahead of them was a long, one-story, rough looking building. Cement block. It had been painted white, a few times along the way. The paint was chipped and missing more than not. The tin roof may be a welcome during the rain, but otherwise looked to be a heat producer when the sun came to dry the moisture.

Two women appeared. Nurses, both of them from the local area. Introduced as Chibon and Agunda, they spoke French and a little English, enough to take orders from the doctors. They both had the equivalence of a high school education – quite high for anyone in the region, much less women, but their nursing skills were learned on the job. They staffed the clinic during the day, but walked back to their village on the other side of the clinic at night.

"Why can't we stay here at the clinic or with the women's families at night?" Luka asked.

"Well," Joseph explained, "like I said yesterday, the clinic is not completely safe for foreigners at night. That doesn't mean you can't stay here. You may have to if we cannot evacuate a patient out safely by truck."

Carter jumped in, "And the nurses' village?"

Joseph moved to open the back of the truck. He waited for the women to take some boxes inside before explaining. "They appreciate the help you give the people, but do not want you living there. Their people are afraid that your presence will put them in danger. That the rebels will assume the wrong things about the villagers there if they harbor you."

Carter loaded Luka's arms up with supplies before quietly sharing with him a sarcastic but nervous, "That's comforting."

The men and women moved back and forth between the truck and the clinic. The men brought the rest of the supplies in while the women stayed inside organizing them. Luka was listening to a CD with headphones. Back and forth he went bobbing his head to the beat of the music, sometimes humming along. Carter finally asked, "What are you listening to?"

Luka raised his finger at Carter, waiting for the chorus. "I'm making my way to Margueritaville…" Luka sang with a course accent and a slightly better voice.

Carter got a kick out of this and apologized for laughing. "I'm sorry, but I never pictured you as a Parrot Head."

Luka took his headphones off. "A what?"

Carter repeated, "A Parrot Head. You know, like a Dead Head?"

Luka was puzzled and wondered if this was an insult or a bad joke until Joseph chimed in, "A Jimmy Buffet fan is called a Parrot Head." Carter looked surprisingly at Joseph, and then back at Luka as if to say "Don't you know anything? Even in the jungle they know that!"

"Well, actually this is Abby's CD she left behind."

Carter nodded in recognition. "Now that I can believe," and they both laughed quietly. This reminded Carter of the song Abby would play over and over in the Jeep. She bought the CD loaded with Italian songs sung by a young upstart, Josh Groban, just to hear that one song. Over and over again. He even conveniently tossed it out the window into the river just to find a new one in its place the next day. More than eleven thousand miles from home and he still thought of her, but the memories were sour, stale.

Joseph went off to speak with Chibon and Agunda as the doctors finished bringing in the supplies and started to get acquainted with the facility. The building was small and echoed. But for all it didn't have, it was clean.

It was broken up into three areas that in some way flowed together. The smallest room was on the far left where exams would take place. A couple of benches stood outside the door for waiting patients. Inside was a very old exam table. Something these two doctors hadn't seen outside of pictures. An equally old medicine cabinet was off to the side. Old instruments and carefully rationed medical supplies were locked behind the broken glass doors. The most modern piece of equipment in that room was a round stool on castors for the doctors to sit on.

The infirmary took up the largest space in the middle of the long building, housing four very old hospital beds and three cots, all neatly made up with white sheets. A rudimentary back board leaned against a wall and in the far corner there was a stainless steal table with boxes and old charts on it. An operating table, they surmised.

The right third of the building was where the doctors had a desk and a few rickety wooden chairs. A short waive radio sat prominently on the desk. A pot of coffee stood waiting for them, freshly brewed. The women would take care of them. There they filled two cups and sat down. Joseph was back too, cataloging the goods he brought atop the desk.

"Do we use the radio?" Luka asked.

Joseph placed his boxes on the floor and went over to the desk. "Yes. The frequencies that we use are here taped underneath. Call me when you are in need of transport."

"Does the radio always work?" As usual Carter was looking at the dark side.

"Usually, yes." Joseph opened the bottom drawer, jarring it hard a couple times to make it work. Inside was a bulky looking telephone. "This is a satellite phone. The instructions are in the drawer. But you are only to use that in case of emergency. You won't get me. You'll talk to Sean. He splits his time between Kinshasa and Mbandaka."

The three men continued hauling in the supplies and storing them away. Carter and Luka hadn't talked much since their arrival in the Congo. Carter assumed that it was because of their strained mutual relationship with Abby. "Luka," Carter knew he was treading water here, "after you and Abby split up, did you ever forgive her?"

"**Her?**" Luka stopped short of discussing his bygone disgust of Carter, the one he suspected Abby of loving from a distance while she shared Luka's bed. Luka, in turn, asked Carter if he'd ever had someone he loved turn to someone else. Carter told him about Harper Tracy. They were med students together. One night Doug Ross decided to give her a little personal tutoring, extra credit. Luka asked how he found out.

"Good old confession actually," Carter smiled uncomfortably as he swatted the congregating flies away from his face. "Believe it or not, she actually told me, right there in the ER. She got to me before Mark Greene did. He found out, and, well…" As he smirked at himself and the old memory, Carter couldn't help bringing it up. "Doug Ross. I should have known. Should have seen it coming."

Luka didn't miss a beat as he latched onto the analogy he was trying to relay to Carter. "Did you ever forgive **her?**" Carter caught on as the two shot looks straight through each other, Carter giving a tilt of his head, a half smile of understanding but a slightly raised eyebrow of contempt.

Joseph caught on too and looked up from the clipboard, "You two have been in love with the same woman?"

Carter smiled, "Well, not at the same time."

Standing between them, holding a box, Joseph looked back and forth between them and said, "Forgiveness is easy. Forgiveness is something you do for yourself. You do it, you feel better, you move on. It's what you **don't** do with your life that you can never go back and fix. That's regret. And you live with that for the rest of your life."

Joseph drove back home leaving the doctors and two women to fend for themselves. Carter and Luka checked out their new little "hospital", opening cupboards and making mental lists of where the scant medical supplies were stored. They walked around the building subconsciously avoiding each other's presence listening to the rain tip-tap on the roof and pour off past the windows to the puddled ground below.

"Well…," Carter sat on one of the beds tapping his fingers on his knee.

"Yep…," Luka pursed his lips and searched the only place that hadn't been yet: the ceiling.

At home bad weather usually slowed things down. The ER could get down right lonesome in the middle of a huge storm. The two men wandered the infirmary listening to the rain and each other's shuffling feet, wondering when Joseph would return.

Agunda peeked around the curtain separating the infirmary from the exam room. "Excuse me, doctors. We were wondering if you will be seeing patients today."

The two looked at each other, somewhat relieved that they would have someone to talk to besides each other. "Sure," Luka told the nurse, "just let us know if someone comes in."

"Dr. Luka," as customary in the region, Agunda addressed the doctor by his first name. They all assumed Carter was just… Carter: Dr. Carter. "We have had patients waiting for a while." No charts handed to them here by nurses or unit clerks.

The two doctors walked past the curtain into the exam room. A woman was sitting on the table holding a child. Luka sat on the stool first, assuming the responsibility of this child and left Carter to occupy his own time.

"I guess I'll take the next patient," Carter sighed. He opened the door and fixed his eyes on the endless procession of people going from the clinic door to the first line of trees way off in the distance. With his stethoscope still in his ears, Luka did a double take and stood to assimilate just what they were seeing. All the time they had been shuffling about the building, these people ever so quietly appeared, lining up patiently to have their medical needs taken care of.

The two doctors saw patient after patient throughout the day. Eventually they set up a system whereas one doctor and nurse would triage and do minor treatments, while the other team would admit patients temporarily into the infirmary for longer observations or extensive treatments. They sutured lacerations, treated a multitude of infections, set two fractures - hoping that they were right- and dispensed anti-inflammatory, vaccinations and antibiotics. They also performed minor surgery on ingrown toenails, abscessed wounds, and assorted boils. The highlight of the day came when the men flipped a coin to see who would have to extract a rotten tooth. Luka lost. Carter laughed light heartedly.

Finally the line thinned out and the infirmary was emptied. Chibon and Agunda set about to clean and prepare for the next day as Carter sat down, finally. Luka picked up the handset of the short wave to call for their ride "home". It had rained steadily all day and Joseph was afraid of the final rise in the road to the clinic. The doctors would have to take a short hike to edge of the clearing at the bottom of the rise to wait for Joseph. They gathered their belongings, bid goodbye to the nurses and dashed off to the shack, barely standing, where Joseph would meet them. The doctors found a dry corner of the primitive shack to wait out the storm, the rain so heavy that the visibility mimicked a good Chicago blizzard.

"What's your dad like, the painter?" Carter asked in an effort to bridge the obvious gap.

Luka raised an eyebrow, surprised that Carter cared to remember. "You were paying attention at that seminar."

"It was mandatory," Carter retorted, as they shared a quiet laugh.

Luka thought about his father. Old, but still very capable of living life to its fullest. Looking down, away from Carter, but with irreverent remembrance Luka spoke of his boyhood in Croatia, of the days spent with his father riding the trains he was conducting. Drinking in the countryside as the engine streamed across the rickety tracks while listening to his father pontificate about his son's future. "You will be a great doctor someday, and we will see your face on the cover of American magazines."

Carter listened with the interest of a boy yearning for family. "And you actually wanted to be a doctor?" he asked.

"Without a doubt," Luka gave back. "School was the only thing I was good at. School, and…," he paused looking slyly out of the corner of his eye at Carter, "and fencing." It was good to share such laughter as they reminded themselves of that uncomfortable day spent in the classroom last year waiting for the sexual harassment seminar to start. The day they let their testosterone get the best of them.

The cadence of the rain slowed to allow the drops of water on each leaf, tree and flower to have their own unique pitch. The jungle was visible now through the shear veil of moisture as the warmth finally made a return to take away the chill driven to the bone by the sudden onslaught of rain.

In a moment of deep silence, one in which Carter made a quick inventory of his own family, he looked straight ahead to Luka. "Your dad must be so proud of you – even if you haven't made Time Magazine's Man of the Year."

Luka loosened up and shared Carter's humor. "I could pass wind in front of the Pope and Dad would still be proud of me." He spoke with the certainty of a man who felt such fatherly affection every day of his life.

"Do you get to see him much?" Carter asked.

Luka explained that he saw his father whenever he could. Two or three times a year if possible. He had recently bought him a computer and they exchanged e-mails almost daily.

Carter stood and walked to the side of the shack, looking out at the mountains in the distance, straining to see something that wasn't there. "That's more than I see my father," he wished aloud.

Luka rose and brushed his pants of the accumulated dirt from the floor. "Isn't your family in the Chicago area?"

Joseph's jeep rumbled into site, making a 3-point turn at the shack to head back to his village with its passengers. Carter picked up the backpack of medical supplies and, without turning to look at Luka, walked out into the remaining mist of the storm mumbling. "Says a lot, doesn't it."


	3. A Walk in the Woods

**POCKET CHANGE  
by Sharon R.**

_**Chapter Three  
**__**A Walk in the Woods**_

And so their work continued on a daily basis at the top of the hill. The mornings found them rolling out of bed, washing at the basin, eating Toomay's breakfast, thanking Toomay and riding up the hill to the clinic. They learned how to catch the annoying tsetse flies that, if not caught and crushed immediately, would seem to follow them with a tiresome purpose until either the rains came or they finally managed to snare them by the leg. The two even had to stop occasionally to perform leach exams on themselves and each other.

Joseph and Toomay were a wonderful source of calm at the end of a long day. Toomay soothed their rumbling guts with tasty regional foods. Plantains, yams, cassava tubers, maize (corn), and rice. They discovered filling dishes like afang soup, banku and kenkey, fufu, Baton de Manioc & Chickwangue and superkanja. Most of the time the dishes looked the same, but the taste was sharply different. Comfort food had a whole new meaning.

Joseph was a proud man. Strong in spirit, the man of the house, but also smitten with his wife. He and Toomay could exchange a thousand words just by connecting eyes. Luka looked on and missed the comfort of a soul mate. Carter wished he'd had one.

Carter was adjusting to his new role and interim country, but he plowed through the day much like he did back home. At least at County he had someone to talk to – someone he had mutual interests with. In the jungle he worked with Luka, but in Carter's eyes the two strained to maintain civility while functioning at the clinic with the necessary communication.

Carter sat back and watched the friendly relationship grow between Joseph and Luka. They spoke with each other in French and English and Carter felt that they did little to include him. He had more in common with the villagers he saw as patients. The few words he had learned in their native language together with rudimentary sign language, smiles, laughs and lollipops gave him a much needed boost. The patients never came alone but, instead, arrived with an entourage. Sometime up to four generations occupied one home and they all tended to the ill one's needs. At times, Carter found himself standing back and taking in the family atmosphere - at once admiring the close ties that bound the people in the Congo, but then feeling ever so lonely as it reminded him of his own loved ones recent deaths, the few that he ever had. Alone in friendship. Alone in family. Yet surprisingly at home in the jungle.

Luka was enjoying this trip. Much different than his stints in Bosnia. There was always an uneasy feeling in the air as they rolled through check points. He was beginning to be able to identify the government militia and rebel troops. The rebels often gave themselves away by their looks of curiosity and suspicion. Their background chatter seemed to vary in language or they were completely silent altogether. The government friendlies searched them for weapons and checked their papers for authenticity. The rebels were more interested in the supplies they carried and the value of the doctors' property. Carter had already lost his cell phone to them. On the third day they liberated him of his watch as well.

Joseph provided Luka with a much needed ally. They just seemed to hit it off, sharing stories of their younger years and courtship of their wives. Joseph was good practice for Luka's French and they gave each other lessons in their native languages as well. The friendship was simple and easy. Carter sat off to the side sulking in what Luka assumed was homesickness. He was quiet, detached but at least enthusiastic about his work. Maybe even too much so.

They were at the end of their first week when, during their lunch break, Carter ventured outdoors to take in the scenery and stretch his legs. At the edge of the clearing on the banks of the fast flowing creek he found Luka who had managed to put together a miniature campsite.

"You found me out," Luka teased. "I thought I'd make my own little picnic area. Have a seat."

Carter looked around and sat in one of the two patio chairs, the red and white vinyl strips faded and sparsely attached. It was a gamble, but one he was willing to take in the name of solidarity.

Silence.

Birds.

The swish and gurgle of the creek.

Silence.

Buzz.

Smack. Another tsetse fly.

Luka shifted in his chair creaking the fragile hinges.

Silence.

Carter wasn't really interested in Luka's past, but for lack of anything else to discuss, he chose the topic by default. "How did you meet your wife?" Carter thought that this would either start a long diatribe of endless Croatian stories, or get him punched out.

"Well," Luka stood, adjusting his waistline after the meal, "One day Danijella came in my uncle's shop in Rovinj. He sold groceries and assorted trinkets. The tourists were his bread and butter."

Carter started feeling more confident that his face would be preserved, but that it might be a long, lingering break. Helping Chibon clean the specimen cups was beginning to look good to him.

"We were kids, she was younger than me, about 16. I caught her stealing a, um," he stumbled for the right English word and gestured towards his chest, "a lady's pin - a broach. She was beautiful. Her mother was Italian and Danijella had her long dark hair and delicate skin." Luka sat on a large rock next to the creek, tossing stones into the water. "I didn't tell my uncle and ended up finding an excuse to follow her home." He closed his eyes and smiled with them as the air around him took on Danijella's scent and energy just for a moment. Just - a moment.

A long night, for sure. Carter settled back in his chair, reclining the frail back until it broke, leaving him in an awkward position on the ground. A positive sign, maybe one which could bring a halt to this protracted chapter of the Kovac saga. Luka helped him up, laughing, but not taking much of a breather from his tale.

"I was already into my years of study at the University and had to wait 2 more to marry her. She was young in age, but her soul far surpassed mine." Luka propped his arms on his bent knees while taking in the cooler shade of the afternoon.

Carter, on the other hand, was already doing the math. Subtracting about 15 years from what he guessed was Luka's current age and multiplying by the number of minutes, finally reaching the total number of hours the story would take to get to present time.

Sigh.

"When she got pregnant it was scary, but not exactly a big surprise. She was stunning when she was at her most pregnant. She was all out here," he put his arms in front of his own belly to show how she would have carried the baby, "didn't gain her weight anywhere else but her belly. She was…," Luka drifted off but kept replaying those wonderful memories inside his head, skipping the stones across the rushing water, a half smile lingering with his thoughts.

As much as Carter regretted asking him, he was taken by Luka's ability to discuss this with so much comfort. "I'm sorry, Luka. I didn't mean to get personal." But somewhere deep inside Carter was that inkling of jealousy as he listened to such memories.

Luka enjoyed talking about Danijella, about the happy times. "I don't mind. It was a wonderful time, there's no reason not to talk about it. How about you?"

"What?" Carter didn't follow Luka.

"How did you meet Abby? In the ER?"

"Oh, well, um," now he had to think. He had to dig up a period of time he was not exactly fond of discussing and tried to remember the sequence of events for that year. "I guess it was when she rotated down to the ER as a med student. She wasn't one of my students and it wasn't very long before the, well… around the time of the ah…" He had never rehearsed this, never spoke of it in particulars, not even during rehab. There were times when Carter couldn't figure out where the good memories stopped and the bad ones took over for that year. "She came to the ER just before I got …" he couldn't finish it and cleared his throat a couple of times. "I didn't really know her well in the first few months. I was away then things kind of got fuzzy, but, in the end she narced me out." Carter chuckled uncomfortably hoping to change the subject altogether.

"Do you remember it?" Luka asked, nonchalantly.

"Yeah, I remember it. Everybody remembers it, Luka. She caught me mainlining left-over Fentanyl after a trauma." The irritation was growing deeper as he was forced to think of, and talk of some very painful times of his life. Times that he had gone to great length to run away from… again.

Luka remained calm almost as though reading from a book. "No, the stabbing. Do you remember the stabbing?"

He had to say it twice? Twice? He hadn't actually mentioned the stabbing, but in his mind he had. For Carter, this had not become what he expected. He got up to his feet, and even tried to form words. Instead he shook his head back and forth, became visibly agitated and decided that in order to keep Luka's inquiring mind from ever wanting to know again, he would have to get in his face.

Which he did.

Squatting next to Luka, close enough to feel his breath on his own face, Carter quietly, with great composure, finished the conversation. "I don't talk about that. I never have. I never will. It would serve no purpose and I would just as soon leave it in the dark, damp recesses of my mind where it belongs."

He got up to leave but was stopped by Luka who scrambled to his feet quicker. "I'm sorry, Carter. I assumed that you had discussed this at length with other professionals, your family."

Carter skirted around him and walked away from Luka back to the clinic. At the last minute he turned around and while walking backwards, put his arms out to the side and exasperated almost as an afterthought, shouted "Mind your own business, Luka. Stay out of mine."

The day continued with the two doctors working at opposite ends of the clinic, using the nurses to do their communicating for them. Carter was functioning in high gear, seeing out-patients and treating the infirmary cases as well. Treating and streeting, Congo style. The regular afternoon downpour only increased the humidity that had become almost tangible. But neither the heat nor the muggy air seemed to slow Carter down. He was doing anything he could to replace the thoughts of Abby Luka had put in his head for him to stew on.

Luka found himself tip-toeing around the clinic to avoid Carter's snipping and sniping. His offer to suture a man's foot wound that was sixth in line for treatment was met with a glaring look from Carter. "No. I've got it, Luka. I'll get to it." Enough to get Luka to back off and find some bandages to put together.

Chibon came from around the curtained off exam room to announce a new arrival: a young girl with a fever. Carter snapped at her. "OK. It'll have to wait. Just … give me a minute." He felt bad about being short with her and tried to convey that with his eyes.

Luka wasn't seeing patients, so he put down the bandages and walked towards the curtain.

"Luka," Carter snapped, "I said just a minute." He was just finishing a wound debridement rushing to make his point.

"You know," Luka said calmly, his head lowered but eyes looking straight at Carter, "It's okay to ask for help sometimes."

Carter finished his work and stood up, stripping off his gloves, walking swiftly past Luka into the exam room. The little girl was sitting on the exam table holding on tightly to her father's waistline. She looked to be a small nine year-old. A beautiful round, dark brown face. Her striking dark eyes peered out at Carter beneath her shiny forehead. Carter, hands on his hips, took a deep breath and sighed trying to get himself back into the groove of the caring doctor.

"Hi sweetheart. Let's see what's going on here." Chibon translated quietly off to the side as Carter put his hands on the girl's neck to palpate her glands. She had a fever, yes, but she also had a sore and red throat. Carter finished the abbreviated history and end-of-the-day exam and sent the girl away with some penicillin. He was exhausted and sat on the stool long after the girl left with her father watching the two walk away hand in hand into the distance, framed by the doorway. Half way to the trees the little girl turned around to look at Carter, giving him a simple smile and tiny wave. It warmed his heart as he smiled and returned the wave.

As they disappeared he, too, walked outside toward the trees – walking and walking. The soggy earth below him soaked into his shoes invading the space between his toes. He just wanted to keep going, to walk all of his sad and disturbing memories away. It was as if the thoughts followed him around like a tse-tse fly. He just wanted to crush them and move on, but instead he hid behind what he considered to be the bad times, dead weight and unfulfilling moments of his life. Running away wasn't so bad, he thought as he marched onward. Just getting some distance… needing to find solitude. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he sloshed through the jungle carpet looking down at his feet , concentrating on the rhythmic swishing under the soles of his shoes.

"Dr. Carter!" A faint woman's voice called for him in the background.

His feet moved without motivation as though the direction he took and length of his gate were oblivious to the destination but in sync with his emotions. The soft soil turned into the crunching of twigs and dried palm leaves as Carter continued his therapeutic excursion, walking away from… away from…

"Dr. Carter, stop. Come back!"

He found the peace he had sought out as the dense foliage above cast shadows among the dappled sunlight dotting the groundcover. An occasional squawk from the animal life above pierced the sweet smelling air, and the fresh sunlight streaked through the tree branches tweaking Carter's humor as it made him think about the pictures in the children's bibles from his childhood. One blue one in particular that was always in his dentist's waiting room.

"Carter!"

He turned around to see Agunda, a small speck in the distance, waving to him from the clinic. In his vague effort to escape from reality, he had traveled clear into unsafe territory. Between him and the clinic building was not only the expanse of the clearing but at least an acre of trees, probably more. The peaceful silence was suddenly foreboding.

"Carter!"

Joseph's words were coursing through his head: _"There is always somebody watching you. Somebody you cannot see."_ In the time it took him to take a breath it seemed as though the jungle had closed in on him. Chin down, he froze and stopped breathing. His eyeballs scouted the periphery as he hoped against hope that he wouldn't hear anything.

"Carter!" It was Luka running towards him at full speed.

Carter finally moved forward picking his feet up faster and faster until he was out of the tree line and practically tackled by Luka.

"What the hell are you doing, Carter?" Luka was out of breath and bent down resting the weight of his torso on his hands propped on his knees.

Carter could only stutter, "I don't know, I… I… just needed to walk…"

Luka lashed out at him, "Was that some sort of lame attempt to kill yourself? Huh? That's stupid. **_Stupid_**. You put us **and** the program all at risk when you pull shit like that." He was sick and tired of Carter's moping. He threw his arms up in disgust and walked back to the clinic leaving Carter on the spot, quite literally.

The last of the patients were making their way out of the building and the nurses were getting the mops and buckets out to begin cleaning up when Luka stepped inside . He felt a need to apologize to the nurses, they were understanding but shaken. Luka sent them home for the evening leaving the clean up to the doctors. Heading to the treatment area he looked around at the mess left for them. The instruments would need to be cleaned – the forceps, needle drivers, scissors. Disposable instruments were a luxury. He laid out what he would need to scrub and prepare them for the autoclave.

Carter was in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "I'm sorry, Luka. I wasn't thinking." He picked up an old, chipped porcelain coated bowl and started collecting the medical instruments around the room. They clanked against the bowl as he dropped them in making it the only sound the two doctors were making.

"I thought you two were over." Luka took the instruments from Carter and dumped his half into the sink. Carter shrugged in response, then took the other half and scrubbed them in a basin of water beside Luka.

So far it had been Luka asking the personal, probing questions. Now Carter wanted to know. "When you and Abby broke up," this got Luka's attention, "how did you know it was really over? I mean, how did you feel inside? I mean…" Carter cleared his throat while Luka formulated a way to tell the most recent lover of his past lover how it felt when they parted ways.

"I think even before we broke up there was a feeling of separation," Luka answered. "She had been in love with you, not me." They kept working, cleaning the instruments without really focusing on each other. "The act itself was almost a relief."

Carter was trying to find some sort of identification with Luka. He did – he understood from other relationships gone bad, but not with Abby. "But you felt bad, didn't you?"

Luka finished scrubbing his pile of instruments and wrapped them in a pack. Sitting in the chair next to the sink he put his hand through his hair combing it back with his fingers. Guy-like discussion with Carter without forced silence or screaming. This was new. "I felt like crap," he said with a smile, "but I knew it was over. I didn't long for her to be around every corner anymore. There was nothing left for us to share - Nothing to look forward to."

The two finished their packs and loaded them in the autoclave before going on to their next chore cleaning the floor. The time passed but with their usual parallel interaction, or lack thereof. Back and forth with the mops, the smell of bleach rising, filling the building. Their mops met when they got to the middle. Luka stood to stretch his back and looked at Carter, hoping to get some response out of him. "Was it the same with you? When you broke up with her?"

Carter shook his head slowly, confused a bit but not quite willing to discuss it with him. He walked away to store his mop but stopped short of the closet, turning around, just a quarter turn. "I still wait for her around that corner. I want to hear her voice on the other end of the phone, and I want to roll over in bed in the morning and smell her hair…" For a moment Carter forgot that there was another party involved in this conversation but halted abruptly when he realized that Luka once shared these same intimate moments with Abby. "Oh, I'm sorry Luka. I…"

Luka was smiling. "That's okay. I understand. But," he was treading water here, "are you sure you are both of the same mind with this?"

Well here was a moment that neither of them thought would come to life. A mutual discussion about Abby. "Oh yeah." Carter was nodding with gusto. "Abby was all about… Abby. Nobody suffers like Abby."

By now Luka had stashed his mop as well and was reviewing a stack of charts off to the side. "It's a topic she knows well. But it's not like you didn't know that going into the relationship."

"Oh, no," Carter replied, "not only was I in lust with her, which completely cancels out rational thought, but I come from a long line of self absorbed, pity dwellers in denial." Carter was laughing and Luka couldn't help but join in.

The two of them got back to work cleaning the clinic and readying it for the next day. Just when Luka thought he had succeeded in getting Carter to talk about anything – **_anything_**, Carter added, "On the root level, Abby is completely unable to care about anyone else's problems but her own. She can't give support, and most of the time, when she needs it most, she won't accept any until she has proven that she has saved the world all by herself. She works hard at being both victim _and _savior."

"Is that what did it?" Luka had been confident long ago that Carter had thrown his arms up in despair.

"I think the turning point was when I was at my lowest, when my grandmother died, and although Abby was there physically, she couldn't be there for me without making it be all about her and her problems." Carter was somewhat relieved to be able to actually put words to his feelings for once.

Joseph was driving up to the door. The thought of going "home" for a meal and some well deserved rest was a relief. Luka had heard enough to make an accurate assumption. "It sounds like you two have some unfinished business."

The two men walked out the door, locking it behind them. "Yeah," Carter admitted, "I guess we kind of walked away from each other. I don't think I have it in me to be her bitch mechanism again."


	4. Of Sailboats, Sunsets and Pocket Change

**POCKET CHANGE  
by Sharon R.**

_**Chapter Four  
**__**Of Sailboats, Sunsets and Pocket Change  
**_

When Luka and Carter arrived at the doors of the clinic early the next morning, they already had patients waiting. A large group of villagers appeared to have camped out directly in front of the building. As the doctors exited the Jeep, Luka hung back and asked Joseph to stay behind. He didn't want to have to call him back to transport a patient so soon after leaving.

Inside, Agunda had already made the patient, a very old, frail looking man, comfortable in a bed. "He is a very important tribal elder." Agunda respectfully spoke in hushed tones, even though the man did not understand English. "They have heard that the white doctors traveled from far away and believe that you came just for him."

Luka and Carter had a heavy load on their shoulders, neither wanting to be the God that failed! They gave each other identical looks of trepidation making the choice of physician a toss up, until Carter glanced over at the doorway to the exam room and saw the little girl and her father from the day before. He and Chibon headed into the front room to check on her progress.

The old man was fragile to the bone. Agunda had a hard time hearing his faint voice made even feebler by his shortness of breath. Luka checked his heart and lungs, and palpated his sunken abdomen. Upon completing his initial assessment, he used his stethoscope a second time to hear the man's heart and breathing. As he feared, the man was most likely suffering from CHF - congestive heart failure.

He stood by the man's bedside and spoke to him through Agunda. "You have a very sick heart inside your chest. There is little I can do for you here." Luka sat down on a chair and scooted it closer to the dying elder, resting his hand on the patient's shoulder . "You have to go to the big hospital in Kinshasa. They may be able to get you the right medicine to make you more comfortable."

Agunda translated, then paused after listening to his faint but resolute request. "He wants to know if he will die from this illness." Luka's eyes said it all, but he answered anyway with a single nod. No translation required.

The old man motioned his wishes with a shake of his head and wave of his hands. Luka stood and, recognizing the look of acquiescence and acceptance in the elder's eyes, signaled Joseph away, freeing him to go back home.

Chibon undressed the girl, this time for a more thorough examination. She was still quite feverish; the glands in her neck were inflamed now and she had become lethargic. Although it had only been fourteen hours since her initial visit, Carter was concerned that she hadn't responded at all to the penicillin and, in fact, had gotten worse. He had Chibon obtain a urine sample to check for red cells and infection and walked back into the infirmary to consult with Luka.

Carter drew back the curtain and walked into a crowd that had surrounded the old man's bed. Pulling up tight next to Luka he whispered, "How'd you do? Will we be toasted or just toast?"

"CHF"

"Hmmm. Toast." Carter was optimistic. "Can't we turf him down to the hospital?"

Luka moved away from Carter and walked to the back office. Carter followed hoping to talk to him about his patient. "The man doesn't want to leave the jungle. His people are very wary of modern civilization."

"Not much we can do for him here." Carter poured coffee for the two of them.

Luka went to the doorway to keep his eye on the group while he drank his coffee. "Nope. He wants to go back to his village to die. Euthanasia by default."

"That girl is back from yesterday. The one from the end of the day. She's worse on Penicillin." Carter was scratching his head hoping it was just dirt up there. "We really don't have much else to give her here that would be stronger. Maybe IV Kefzol. She needs labs."

"Let's take a look." Luka headed back into the infirmary where the villagers were getting the man out of bed. They all filed quietly out of the clinic but stopped in order for the man to thank Luka, with a kind smile.

Luka's exam of the girl was of no benefit to Carter. Her urine was concentrated somewhat but free of infection or red blood cells. One mention to the father of the possibility that she may have to be transported to the city sent him into a verbal rage with Chibon. Evidently they were of the same opinion of the outside world as the old man and there would be no way to convince them to leave with Joseph.

They broke out the Kefzol and diluted it into the piggy back IV solution. For good measure they also hung a 500 cc bag of normal saline and dextrose to boost her hydration. In the infirmary she was tucked into a bed, her father never leaving her side. She didn't even flinch or make a sound when they established the IV.

"If this is what I think it is," Carter wondered out loud, "the only thing that will touch it is Vancomycin."

"Not a chance." Luka was one step ahead of Carter. "I checked the list of available meds. Vancomycin is gold on the black market. It would be too risky to get up here."

They were screwed. Catch-22.

The doctors observed her through the day and made plans to stay the evening. The father was nervous and restless about not returning to the village and insisted they remove the IV catheter so that they could go home. It took some talking, in more than one language, but Carter at least got them to stay long enough for Joseph's arrival at the end of the day. Just before leaving they drew the girl's blood for a culture and placed it in their small cooler. Joseph would drop them at the house before taking the culture over to the hospital. Two to three days is what it would take to get results.

It had been a long day and the doctors were feeling it. Joseph made two trips up the hill that day to transport patients. They came in a steady pace not giving much time for putting the feet up. Paper work, well, there really wasn't much to do. Not like at County. Chart reviews, rounds, M & M – if they happened it was around the coffee pot between patients. A word here and there, notes scratched on wrappers taken from first aid supplies. The patients that were kept over in the infirmary waiting for transport to the city had charts and the doctors made do with the documentation that they could offer. But the charts were nothing more than treatment diaries. No pink sheets from the lab, or blue from cardiology. Stickers for charges were non existent. Just check marks and hand scratch.

Carter and Luka pulled up to Joseph's home late in the day. Toomay had some food waiting which they heartily gobbled up. They looked forward to the cuisine now, and wondered what they would do when they got back home to Chicago. While Luka easily slid into and became part of the nightly dinner conversation telling stories, laughing and exchanging inside jokes with Joseph, Carter was a polite spectator. They were tired, exhausted and in need of putting their feet up. Luka always made a point of thanking Toomay, and Carter noticed with a smile.

That night after dinner they walked outside with a bottle of whiskey Joseph had rustled up for them. There wasn't much in it, but enough to numb what little they had left of their nerves. Luka poured for the both of them and quickly downed the first shot. Carter took his glass and stared through the pungent liquor. Just holding the glass calmed him and he gave it back to Luka knowing in himself that he wasn't going to let that day drag him back into substance abuse. He just wanted to make a difference somewhere, somehow. The difference he could make while inebriated was not why he was there.

Luka looked longingly at the children playing in the distance. Their voices were far off but close enough, sweet enough to trigger memories of his childhood. "My family didn't have much money, so I would help out by delivering groceries for my uncle in the summertime in Rovinj. Have you ever heard of it?"

"No, actually, I think the closest I've been to Croatia has been Italy." Carter felt uncomfortable, almost as though he was prying where he didn't belong.

"Rovinj is very close to Italy. They call it the Croatian Tuscany. A very old world town, cobblestone streets…" Luka wished he had pictures to share with Carter. "When I was done with deliveries I would go down to the seaside and take my sailboat onto the water. It wasn't a real sailboat." Luka got a good chuckle at himself and didn't care if Carter was listening or not. "It was more like old boards crudely hammered together. But it would get me far enough off shore to drop a line and attempt to get enough fish for our dinner table. No matter what I caught my aunt made a big deal of it. The tiniest fish became fine cuisine at the dinner table."

He closed his eyes and Carter could tell that his Croatian colleague was in a far away land, focused, and he wondered if his own absence would be noticed if he quietly slipped away. But for all the inner whining Carter created within himself, he couldn't quite walk away from Luka's picturesque memories and family yarns.

Luka inhaled deeply through his nose as if to take in the warm, salty sea air of the Adriatic and let his head fall back so as to catch what little sunlight there was left to the day on his tired face. "I didn't get a long ways away from land, but it didn't matter to me. I would hunker down in that little boat so I could no longer see anything but the sky and feel the roll of the sea under me. And I would make believe that I was all alone in the middle of the sea, on my way to America." He opened his eyes and came back to earth, smiling. "I would stay there until the sun set. Lying there, taking in the magnificent colors on the horizon. I figured if I could see that every day, I had it all. It got harder as I grew up. I sure didn't fit anymore inside that little boat, but I can still see the sunset. And the ability to dream like that…" His voice trailed off and he stood to walk away from the conversation. "How about you, Carter? What did you do to entertain yourself when you were a child?"

Carter had to rearrange his train of thought and dig deep to find these memories. "Well, there were polo tournaments. And sporting events at prep school. Dressage, showmanship. At home, … um… lawn parties."

Luka was puzzled by this as he squinted into the far off sleepy sun. "Lawn parties?"

Carter never had to explain this before. "Outdoor picnics. Somewhat formal. White was the color of the day and we played tennis, badmitten, croquet. I guess you didn't have lawn parties."

"We didn't have lawns." Luka wanted to dig deeper. "I mean what did you do to entertain yourself? What did you do when you were dreaming?"

If Carter was taken by surprise by Luka's questions, this particular one not only threw him way off course, it found him speechless. Not because he was searching for the right words, but for the mere reason that he just didn't have an answer. Luka watched Carter look around his surroundings. His eyes traveled slowly from tree to tree, from the ground to the horizon. He made an attempt or two to speak, but failed resorting instead to a shrug of his shoulders. "I don't know," he stammered, surrendering to his lack of memory.

"Come on Carter," Luka primed him, "you lived in a mansion; you had your grandparents, and parents. Siblings. Servants. You had everything."

Carter shook his head as the realization of what little money did for him finally hit home. He turned and looked Luka in the face as he walked straight to him. "I guess I had nothing," he told him with succinct words so that there would be no misunderstanding.

He turned away from Luka this time and spoke as he took steps to distance himself. "Ever since we got here you have talked about nothing but your childhood and your beloved Croatia. If it was so great, why aren't you still there?"

Luka poured himself another drink and sat down in the half broken chair. "It got to the point where there was nobody left. My mother, she died when I was twelve. Then, my wife and children were killed in the war. My grandparents, they too died during the war. Of natural causes, but still, it was a great loss for me."

"And your father?" Carter was counting relations.

"He had his work and his art," Luka said. "That was his passion. I lost mine and by that time there was little work for me. At least that's what I thought." Luka scuffed his feet back and forth in the dirt making neat tracks as he spoke. "I guess I ran away."

By this time Carter was sitting opposite Luka. He no longer scanned the countryside looking for himself. He focused on that bottle of whiskey Luka was finishing and thought of Abby. "How about you," Luka asked. "Why are you here?"

Carter was watching Luka's feet while thinking about Abby, about his mother and father and his cousin. It wasn't exactly a group of people that conjured up memories that would sell on the retail market for top dollar. He knew exactly why he was there, but instead of putting a cap on this discussion by defining his life in 10 words or less, he simply shook his head and walked away.

"Look out at that." Luka pointed at the sunset behind the hills. The vast brilliance of gold and orange swirled among the incoming cloud cover creating a dazzling illumination above and behind the backdrop of the green jungle . The bright mixture of warm colors was hard to miss, especially as they reflected off the swirl of booze in his glass. "Carter, how can you not see that?" Carter turned just his head to look, squinting but not taking in the glory of the moment.

"You look past it, don't you?" Luka queried, hoping to gain some bit of understanding. Carter said nothing, averting his gaze down to his feet instead, eventually walking back into the house leaving Luka to take in the sunset by himself.

The breeze was picking up and dark clouds formed in the distance. It would be time for more rain so Luka decided to stay outside until the moonlight was taken from him and substituted with hard rain. To his left, beyond the roof tops, was the edge of the jungle. To his right, Joseph's house and the other village homes.

The feeling of isolation was conflicting to Luka knowing that he was in an unstable country with unstable weather and, frankly, a seemingly unaffected, immature colleague he was just getting to know. Yet, he was at peace with the people, happy to give of his time and experience. Back on the pendulum of emotions he longed to find a purpose to his life and wondered what else he could possibly do to make him feel …. just feel.

"Not much time before you get drenched!" Luka was startled to find Joseph standing beside him, drink in hand. "I'm sorry, my friend," Joseph remarked, "I just wanted to see how your day was. The tribal elder die?"

"He went home with his people." The days were extraordinarily long but Luka was grateful to get back early enough this night to relax and get some sleep. Luka was finding Joseph to be a good friend in this strange country. Didn't know why, maybe familiar circumstances surrounding their home countries. They both sat down facing the sunset, quickly fading into a dark, starless night.

Joseph took his last drink and asked, "Dr. Carter is a man of few words." That was stating the obvious! "Is he not happy with my family?"

Luka wasn't surprised at this question but understood Carter's lack of comfort. "I think Carter is very happy with your family. He just doesn't know it." They shared a chuckle as delighted sounds of noisy children came from the house. In among those voices was Carter's, possibly, making animal noises and the women shooing the little ones off to bed.

"John Carter is a complex character." Luka shook his head as if to search for an explanation that was hard to come by. "He has had some losses lately. Grew up in a very privileged home but went his own way." Joseph stood up and turned his chair to face Luka. "I think," Luka paused to speak slower, hoping to get it right, "I think he always sees himself as being on the outside looking in."

Joseph leaned forward and gave Luka a tap on his knee. "And you're not?"

Luka was caught off guard with this one. "Not what?"

"On the outside looking in." Luka shook his head, humoring his friend. "Luka, I've been doing this for a long time. I've seen a lot of doctors come and go. I see it with you and Dr. Carter."

"See what? Joseph – you worry me. Too much exhaust from that beat up truck of yours." A gust of wind pushed in and the two grabbed the small patio table as it was lifted up and toppled.

Joseph connected well with Luka and took the opportunity to share his experience with him. "Doctors come here looking for themselves. They seem to think that living in the third world and making do in the clinic with few supplies is roughing it. And that somehow getting back to nature will solve all of their problems and give them their ultimate ticket to St. Peter's gate when the time comes."

Luka didn't know whether he should laugh at this statement or cry. "You are a smart man, Joseph." The small drops of rain came down, slow at first, like at home in Chicago. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back to catch the droplets as they hit his face, wanting to know more about this man. "Well, I would guess that with your service to this organization and your people you already have your ticket to that gate."

Joseph rose to start back to the house. "You don't have to earn your way into heaven, my friend. Everybody is born with a ticket in their pocket. Just make sure you don't lose it among all that loose change."

The wind picked up, and the two men called it a night. Luka wanted to ask Joseph something personal that was gnawing at him. "Why do you do what you do? You have a family, you have proven yourself time and again. But you still risk your life every time you drive through those check points."

Joseph was a proud man. "I went to University. Got my engineering degree, speak four languages." The two stacked the chairs and turned the small table upside down on top of them. "I could have left and gone anywhere. I could be teaching in the big cities. But this is my homeland – my people. My children deserve to see that helping their people as opposed to oppressing them is the only solution to the suffering."

Luka was both puzzled and amazed at his friend's selflessness. "Aren't you afraid of the danger? For your family?"

They stopped just outside the open kitchen door and Joseph put his hand on Luka's shoulder. "I think of that every day. But my children are proud of me. My wife supports me. And most important, my son and daughters will always have good hearts because they know how it feels to sacrifice, and **_that _**is humanity."

Joseph lowered his voice so as not to bring the rest of the household into the discussion. "I don't feel the need to define my life by the mountains I have taken. To me, I measure my personal credibility by what I have **_not_** done, instead of what I have accomplished. There are people out there who need my help. I can leave here and hope that Sean finds someone else to do the job. That would be easy. But I feel that would serve one purpose – and that would be to make the hole in my pocket open up just a little." He gave Luka a pat on the back as he went off to join his wife in bed.

The household had quieted with the children in bed. Luka stepped in past the doorway and saw Carter at the kitchen table, who had obviously caught the end of the conversation. They both pretended that it didn't happen, exchanged evening niceties and went off to bed.


	5. FedEx: Congo Style

**POCKET CHANGE  
by Sharon R.**

_**Chapter Five  
**__**Fed-Ex: Congo Style  
**_

The night heat was unbearable as the two doctors tried in vain to get comfortable in their cots surrounded by mosquito netting. The atmosphere was still with thick, humid clamminess. Turning over and over in their cots was the only way of creating some sort of movement of air. Usually the noise from the jungle creatures could be soothing as they had a rhythm of their own; keeping a pulse-like tempo that one could easily fall asleep to. This night was different. The racket started and stopped unpredictably. Carter and Luka were just as easily awakened by the lack of noise as they were by the suddenness of the clatter. There was an eerie sense that night, almost one of foreboding.

The sticky, almost waxy film that masqueraded as his skin gave no relief from the warm and humid breeze that briefly invaded the porch through the screens. Once a man who wore fine clothes and exuded GQ cleanliness and quality, Carter now found comfort and relief in a simple pot of warm water and an old rag. He felt like an old rag too. He used the unsettled night to contemplate his life - his being. In the Congo he was far from the security blanket of Chicago. Unsettling, it put him in a place that made him the pilot of his own ship for once, but even this once far off dream found him with few tools within himself - no idea how to fly the plane. And in his effort to use the experience to better himself or even to fit in, he had been a miserable jackass and found himself sounding more and more like his father. The DNA doesn't fall far from the tree. He was determined to at least do as much for his patients as he possibly could. But at the moment, making frequent changes in position on the old cot was the only way to cool himself off.

Luka cat napped and fell into deep but brief bits of sleep only to be woken by the dead silence. His beard, long neglected since his arrival, was now an irritant and he promised himself to shave in the morning. The bugs had gotten the best of him and with the Calamine lotion used up, he was relegated to using a homemade concoction Agunda had whipped up for him. It had a foul stench at first but after a while blended with his own natural smells. He was ripe but at least his scratching was kept at bay. He was in his element at the jungle clinic and it felt good to get away from County General, from the paperwork, the people and most of all, his own expectations of himself. He just wished that Carter could find something of use in his experience. Closing his eyes again he thought of his wife, turned on his side and reached out to her, touching…. the mosquito netting.

"Luka." Joseph shook his shoulder trying to wake him up. Through the veil of the netting, Luka was startled awake as the moment he was dreaming of, far from the Congo, was infiltrated by the reality of the heat, the noises and his friend's face just inches from his. "Luka," Joseph whispered, "the nurses are on the short wave."

Joseph cleared away the netting to allow Luka to get up, explaining that the nurses were back at the clinic with the little girl. She had taken a turn for the worse and the women needed instructions.

The creaking of the floor boards woke Carter. He rubbed his eyes of the day's dirt and grime that had accumulated and set up during his short bursts of sleep. Joseph and Luka were whispering in French as they walked out of the porch bedroom. Being alone didn't bother Carter. But the loneliness he felt while even in a crowd of colleagues punctuated his deep emotions, though it was a feeling he had long accommodated: another family trait. He had surrendered to Joseph and Luka's friendship and, as a result, buried himself in his work. At that point, Mother Nature called and Carter followed the pair into the house finding them at the short wave radio. Luka was talking to Agunda.

"What's going on?" Carter was hushed by Luka's waving hand, but he continued. "What's wrong?"

"Stop!" Luka was trying to hear Agunda on the static radio. They had a few more French exchanges as Carter stood by impatiently and then Luka finally turned around to face him. "The little girl is back with her father. He found the nurses at their homes and begged them for help." The women were now at the clinic and found themselves in over their heads.

"Joseph, can you get me up there now?" Carter ran his hand through his hair trying to think of a way to help the girl with the few supplies they had.

Joseph refused, it was too dangerous. "It doesn't feel right tonight. Even in the best of conditions, a nighttime drive is too risky." He had been more concerned lately about the drive to the clinic. Checkpoints were fewer, but the militia and rebels were no longer on foot. They frequently packed the beds of Toyota pickup trucks – they were looking for faster getaways.

The doctors agreed to wait until just before first light and relayed information to the nurses. They would establish a new IV line and work to get the girl's temperature down. Carter checked in on them regularly as the minutes ticked away. No change. Joseph returned to the arms of his wife, Luka tried to sleep but Carter's pacing was annoying enough to keep even the flies at bay. By the time Joseph roused himself for a second time, the obscurity of the dark skies was lifting and the creatures of the deep night gave way to the early morning critters. All three walked briskly to the Jeep not wanting to miss a moment of time. Carter noticed as Luka and Joseph traded words with each other in French. Joseph almost seemed short with Luka.

For the first time in over a week there were no rebels or soldiers on the road. Nobody. It was almost a blessing that their tensions were not kept inside that vehicle together for more than they had to be. Before Joseph came to a complete stop Carter was out half walking, half running to the clinic doors.

Chibon and Agunda were at the girl's bedside, cooling her off, doing what little they could for her fever. Luka spoke with the nurses in their native French to save time, ordering what additional meds he could. More NSAIDs, more fluid. Her output was still good - her kidneys still functioning, and not over hydrated, yet. The father spoke to Carter as if they were of the same language. The man was beyond emotional repair as Carter tried to console him, putting his hand on his shoulder, doing what he does so well. Hearing the commotion, Joseph walked in and spied the father obliviously talking Carter into a corner. He stepped in between the two and backed Carter away to give himself his own room. Joseph had a way of talking. He could make anyone feel comfortable in the worst situations. He translated for the two men - letting the father know that the doctors were doing all they could without having the facilities of a larger hospital. The man still refused to leave the mountain. "His son died from Cholera last year. His wife in childbirth last month." Joseph spoke quietly to Carter even though the father could not understand the words. But he knew the meaning of the translation, and that was Joseph's way - his comforting - and his way of bridging the gap between desperate father and doctor. "The girl is all he has left." Carter gave the father an understanding nod and empathetic hand to the shoulder.

Joseph left the clinic before Carter had a chance to thank him. He sat at the girl's side taking her vitals and looking at her sweet face. There was nothing left to do. Agunda came to help Carter, pausing to look at both faces. "I think she knows," Carter shared with her.

"Knows what, Dr. Carter?" Her calm voice and nice smile hid her own trepidations.

"That there's nothing more we can do." Carter spoke with no hesitation, but with a reserving sense of surrender as he smiled down at the girl and stroked her face.

"She knows that you care, and that's what is important." Bless Agunda and Chibon, thought Carter. They had been amazing in their abilities to deal with the retches of the conditions inherited from the government and non-governmental disasters over the decades. And they did this every day of the year. She put her own hand on Carter's shoulder as she walked away and Carter reached up to pat it in thanks.

He stood and stretched his very sore back, turning to gaze out the window. It was beginning to rain again. Out by the Jeep he saw Joseph and Luka in deep conversation. Lots of head shaking, talking with the hands. Much going on, but in a way that even puzzled Carter.

A couple hours later Carter saw Luka walk back in the clinic office with the satellite phone in his hand. "I thought we were only to use it in an emergency?"

"It is, sort of." Luka slipped the phone back in the desk drawer and walked briskly past Carter into the infirmary. "I couldn't get the short wave to work and we need some supplies."

Carter walked over to the radio and flicked on the switch. All the lights were on, all parts working. Arms folded, Carter leaned against the desk, peering out at Luka talking to Chibon at the other end of the infirmary. Talking to Joseph on the sly and now Sean.

They couldn't wait any longer for the culture results and decided to get a sample of the girl's spinal fluid on their own, the two doctors working together to do the lumbar puncture. It took the entire staff of four to convince the father that the procedure was necessary, that it wasn't some sort of witchcraft.

Carter sat at the table adjusting the ancient microscope. It had to be dusted off, a light carefully aimed at the mirror. Scooting on his stool he looked through the eyepiece focusing the view with his left hand and moving the slide around ever so slightly with his right. And there it was.

"Do you see it?" Luka was standing behind him, waiting his turn.

Carter stood to let him see for himself. "Yep. The cocci are right there. Enterococci"

Almost overlapping Carter's diagnosis, Luka spoke up. "Meningitis."

"And she's resistant." Carter didn't have to mention it, but it gave credibility to himself to say it out loud. They had taken precautionary measures to protect themselves, but the little girl would not make it another couple of days. Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his khakis, he shrugged his shoulders at Luka and walked back to the girl.

As the noon hour approached, the fact that no other patients came to the clinic that day yet had not been lost on the staff. In fact, it was quiet, too quiet. Luka walked back in to find Carter asleep but sitting up at the little girl's bedside. He gave Carter a poke to wake him up. "How's she doing?" Carter wiped his eyes and stretched his arms, looking around almost as if to verify that he wasn't stuck in a dream state.

"Her fever is high and consistent. Fluid is beginning to accumulate in her lungs." Carter gave a run down.

Luka guessed that sepsis was not far off. "Carter, there is nothing more we can do. She's non-responsive to the antibiotics we've given her." They walked to the back of the clinic, but within eye site of the girl.

"If we could just get Vancomycin she'd have a chance." Carter was reaching for anything to keep his mind off the eventuality of the child's death.

"We tried getting it, you know that." Luka backed him into the wall forcing him to listen. "There are people out there who would kill you to get it and we can't risk depleting what little there is with Sean." Carter looked past Luka to the slight girl dwarfed by the big bed. So young, but so easily treated had she been in Chicago.

He was annoyed by Luka's seeming lack of concern. "How can you just stand there and watch her die, Luka?" Carter's voice rose, pitching his anger at the boiling point as he slowly backed Luka away from him. "You of all people in that ER fight for your patients. You demand the best and stick by them, and speak for them. I have watched you run a code for 45 minutes knowing that it was beyond impossible. And now you are content with being just adequate? Well, I'm sorry, but that's not good enough."

Enraged, Carter shoved the already brittle chair with his foot so hard it smashed into the metal file cabinet, falling into pieces. When Luka could finally get between Carter and his rage he grabbed him from behind and pinned him against the desk, face down. "Are you done?" he screamed from behind his clenched jaw. "Because there is a whole jungle out there to conquer. But it still won't change anything." He let go of Carter and sunk into one of the remaining chairs. They were both exhausted and grasping for straws.

Maybe Carter was right. Luka knew, he knew that he had become complacent not only with his life, but as a doctor as well. The once fearless health care provider had become a by-the-book, county salaried, nine-to-five physician. Gone was the man who took chances and risks to advocate for his patients.

The two were worn out by circumstance and each other. Carter leaned against the side of the window, calm now, but surrendered to the situation. He was not used to talking, especially to Luka. But with almost an involuntary slight, he let his feelings known as he stared out the window.

"I remember a time at County, in my training, when I compared myself to God. I thought I was the healer sent down to serve my people." He spoke in a hushed tone, almost to himself. "It didn't take long to see that the 15 minutes or so we spend with a patient before we turf them to surgery or ICU or street them, is such a miniscule amount of time compared to the millions of minutes of their lifetime. Yet in those few moments we can literally change their fate."

Carter paused to look at the dying girl at the far end of the building and turned to Luka. He didn't know how to form these words of despair. Would Luka even understand? He continued, "I look at these kids, the old people here, women who are destined to die in childbirth. They suffer and die because of little things, diseases that can be treated and prevented. An infection that we would treat and street with a prescription for a ten dollar bottle of antibiotics." The young doctor struggled to maintain his composure. "I come all this way to tell them that there is nothing I can do because I don't have what I need?"

Luka stood and walked behind Carter who turned his back in shame. "It's not that I don't care." Luka pulled from deep within himself to try to bring some sort of understanding to the needless situation. "I have lived this before. This is the real world, here, right here. I know what it's like to go without, both as a doctor and a father. We can only do what we can with what we've got. **_It's not about you, Carter_**. It's about them. We are to them what CT scans, nuclear medicine, organ transplantation and micro surgeons are to us in the ER. If they can just get to us they know they have done their best. What little we can sometimes do for them is enough for them to go on. Even if we fail. And you have to accept that. Because those 15 minutes to them **_are_** a lifetime."

Carter was worn out, spent and stuck on blending his family life with his professional one. "Well I **can't** fail." He was talking to himself more than to Luka. "I failed my cousin, I failed my brother, my parents, even Abby. I tried everything, there was no fixing her." He clung to the metal chicken wire grate that separated the office from the infirmary beds and stared at the girl and her now sleeping father with all his might. "I can't fail that little girl." With his fingers still grasping the wire he turned his head to bring his attention back to Luka. "Do you know how that feels?" Carter was convinced that this was the anvil of the conversation, that Luka had no choice but to concede.

Luka gently, but firmly put his hand on Carter's shoulder. "I've failed. I've failed plenty." He was not about to let Carter get away without getting a snoot full of pride thrown back at him. "I failed my wife and two children when I couldn't perform CPR and surgery at the same time on all three during a bombing raid." Carter looked incredulously at Luka. "And I failed myself by not taking charge of my life this past year. I lost my drive to maintain my courage. You've been at rock bottom before, Carter, and you have pulled yourself out of it. I know failure like you never will, and it's not something to be taken lightly."

"I've never pulled myself out of any hole before." This part of Carter seemed to be a new discovery. "I'm not even sure where I would start. See, there has always been somebody else to rescue me from my failures – to bring me back to my proper Carter-ness." The sun was hitting him directly in the face now. He had to squint to see Luka through the dust particles swirling in the haze before him. "I am a thirty-two year old man who doesn't even know what it feels like to make a significant difference in somebody's life based on **_who_** I am instead of **_what_** I am. I don't even know if I have any courage. Maybe that's my dream." Carter pushed Luka away from him and walked to the opposite side of the room.

Luka wouldn't let him swill in the self pity he was so good at producing. "I will never, ever get over losing my family the way I did, of not being able to save them even though I had the skill and training." He pointed to the little girl in the bed. "That little girl needs all we can give her and although we may not have the best the world has to offer, **we are** the best that she can get at the moment. You can't quit, Carter. Not on her. Just don't quit. I haven't."

Carter walked back into the infirmary, but stopped short to leave Luka with one last thought. "I guess adequate is better than the alternative."

Through the door of the exam room a group of villagers shouted for help. Carter was first to reach them, carrying a young man who was bleeding. He opened the curtain and directed them to the back of the infirmary where Luka was clearing the debris off of the make shift surgical table. One of the nurses rushed to turn on the generator instinctively knowing that the bright surgical light hanging above would be needed. The villagers laid the man on the table and briskly stepped back to let the doctors examine him. Dressed only in shorts, it was explained to them that he had been in the jungle with other family members collecting food when gunfire broke out nearby.

He had one gunshot wound to his abdomen with no exit. He was bleeding from the wound and was obviously terrified, but was at least conscious and breathing on his own. "Chibon, call Joseph on the radio," Luka shouted above the din of voices, "tell him we need a transport right away." Carter looked up from the man, briefly, to shoot a look through Luka. Broken radio, huh? The look wasn't lost on Luka at all.

With the light focused on the patient's belly, they worked to assess his condition while Agunda gave them frequent vitals. No x-ray to call, no labs, no CT. The best Luka could do was to stick his pinky finger straight into the wound and route around inside to see if the bullet had entered the peritoneal cavity. The man strained to keep his composure as Agunda sat near his head talking to him. "It's gone through," Luka told Carter, "but how far?"

Carter finished getting the IV started and palpated the abdomen. It was not distended or rigid. The bleeding was obvious but the question was, where was it coming from? "Should we wait?" Carter was ready to hone his few and rusty surgical skills. When breathing became more difficult for the man, they struggled to put in a chest tube, draining away blood that accumulated in his chest.

As time passed they contemplated doing surgery. "We can't open him up here unless he starts to decompensate dramatically." Luka really didn't want to risk infection unless he absolutely had to. They waited. It would take about twenty minutes at top speed for Joseph to reach them, and the rains were coming down hard. The man's blood pressure began falling, slowly. There was bleeding going on somewhere, a slow leak. Lots of hands helped get him onto the stretcher as Joseph got to the door.

The Jeep was covered in mud. "Almost didn't make it, but getting down should be alright. I'm more worried about getting back up today." Joseph was speaking to both of them but looking at Luka with a great sense of urgency.

"I'll go. Carter should stay back with the girl." Luka got in the Jeep and straightened out the stretcher laying across the back.

The man began getting agitated and Joseph put his head close to his to hear him speak. "He says it's hard to breath again. And he has shoulder pain." Luka moved to adjust the chest tube. More blood drained away and the man was able to breath more comfortably once again.

Carter told them to wait as he got an intubation kit and ambu bag. He got up into the Jeep, but kept the kit to himself. "He may have torn his diaphragm. You can't hold onto him and intubate at the same time."

Luka did not want Carter along and told him it was too dangerous and the girl needed him at the clinic. "You can't come, Carter."

"You said yourself there was nothing more we could do for her. I'll come right back. You can't do this alone, you know it, Luka." Carter was not moving.

Luka turned to Joseph and gave him a look. They took off for Joseph's village skirting around downed tree limbs, batches of palm leaves piled in the road and potholes of gargantuan proportions. They were filthy as they turned into Joseph's house, the first off the road. Carter was surprised to see Sean walk out of the house as the two doctors transported the patient into another waiting truck with staff from the hospital.

"Carter," Luka mentioned, walking towards Sean, "go fill the hospital people in on his condition. Check his breathing again."

He didn't need to be told. Carter was suspicious as he approached the truck, looking back at Luka, Joseph and Sean talking quietly amongst themselves. He gave the nurse in charge the details of the man's injuries and the treatment he received at the clinic. The man's breathing was still difficult but it could wait a few more minutes until they got to the better equipped and staffed hospital.

Carter took a moment to go back in the house to grab his rain poncho. A cheap, blue deal Abby had gotten him at Wal-Mart before he left. Stuffed at the bottom of his bag, he'd forgotten about it. He was sick of getting wet and changed into a dry t-shirt before heading back outside with his slicker.

Sean got a kick out of the blue cloaked Carter. "You're looking like a razzer these days, Dr. Carter." Sean smiled, shaking his head in amazement, his Irish brogue in true form. "You have a might big stash of lee-a-roady to go into the jungle dressed like that." Carter tossed a puzzling look Joseph's way, getting only a shrug in return.

"Hey," Carter tossed out, "it's all about function," and laughed at himself.

Once again, Luka tried talking Carter out of making the journey with them. He told Carter that he might as well stay at Joseph's house until the next day. "You're tired, Carter. You need some sleep. I'll stay with the girl and tomorrow you can take my place."

And once again, Carter was not going to accept Luka's excuses. "How about I go back and **_you _**stay?"

Joseph and Luka shrugged their shoulders and took their places in the Jeep with Carter. The weather and waiting patient at the clinic gave them a sense of urgency to get moving but the driver deferred to his wife for a few more moments as she approached the vehicle. Toomay gently caressed Joseph's cheek and whispered into his ear as he started the engine. A soft kiss between the married couple and the three men were off yet again, leaving Toomay and Sean in the distance.

The men had to hold on tight as Joseph worked hard to get the Jeep up and around all of the debris and mud in the road. They were fighting the rain and losing as the Jeep finally got stuck half way up the hill. All three got out, Luka grabbing the medical bag of supplies Sean had delivered. They had to talk above the sound of the rain smacking against the palm leaves and splashing into the standing water. They made their way to the banks of the creek and began walking upstream. Carter stopped when he noticed he was alone. Turning around he saw Joseph and Luka standing side by side, both staring at him.

"We should tell him," Luka shouted at Joseph. "He should know."

Carter walked back to the men hoping this was not some sort of inside joke. They looked serious, and they were speaking English. "What's going on?"

Luka and Joseph exchanged glances before Luka finally spoke up. "Sean brought us the Vancomycin."

"What?" Carter was incensed. "And you decided to make this a little secret?"

Luka explained that he was hoping to keep Carter out of it for his own protection. "The soldiers and rebels here, they don't like you as much as me." He gave Carter a little grin as he looked down at his feet.

Joseph spoke up to fill in the blanks. "We felt that if the rebels found you with the Vancomycin they would be more likely to kill you than Luka. Please understand, Dr. Carter. Luka did it for you."

The three men gazed at each other uncomfortably as Carter finally exhaled and broke a soft smile. "Yeah, I guess I haven't been the most diplomatic tourist." Carter grabbed the bag and rummaged through it. "You know, Luka," he tossed in with a sarcastic wink, "I can think for myself sometimes. But, ah, thanks for getting the stuff." He pulled out the zipped baggie of Vancomycin vials and a wrapped Ace bandage. Taking the safety pin off of the bandage he turned around, his back to Luka. "Here, pin the baggie inside the top back collar of my shirt." How many times had they seen the gang-banger drug dealers back home come into the ER with the drugs creatively attached to them? Drugs the cops had missed in their searches.

"No, Carter that's stupid. They'll find it." Luka was having no part of this.

Joseph took the baggie and pin from Carter and reached up under his poncho and shirt. "He's right, Luka. If we get stopped, they'll look through our supply bag and find it. They'll frisk both of us and do a half-assed job with Dr. Carter. It's unlikely they'll find it."

Luka put his hands on his hips, sighing a breath of resignation. The three men continued on their journey, stumbling up and over rocks, dipping their feet many times into the cold water to avoid a more treacherous route away from the creek. Suddenly without even a hint of sound, a large group of rebels came upon them from nowhere. They quizzed Joseph in his native tongue. They spoke to Luka in French. At least they were recognized. It appeared to Carter as though Joseph was successfully talking his way out of the ambush, until the medical bag was grabbed and the men were searched. All three patted down, but as Joseph had guessed, they didn't give Carter much thought as the young man searching him passed right over the vials under his shirt and poncho. Knowing the three men were medical professionals, just as likely to help them as they were their enemy, they let them go - giving them their black bag back and walking away. The younger man stayed back watching Joseph, Carter and Luka as they continued on walking upstream.

Luka and Joseph had a few legs up on Carter when the young man's voice brought Carter to a stop. He turned, apprehensively, to see the young man, rifle casually slung over his shoulder, pointing to the ground. He was smiling and walking towards the item, picking up what the doctor had dropped, reaching his arm out to Carter giving it back to him. Carter played the game, smiling back at him, thanking him, even giving him a lame bow. Surprisingly the bow was returned and that's when the young man saw what was in Carter's hands. A bag with vials of Vancomycin, safety pin haphazardly attached. Something that hadn't been seen in the first inspection. Something they had tried to hide. Before Carter could turn to run, the man yelled to his fellow rebels, who were by now out of sight, well into the trees. It was just seconds as the two connected eyes. Carter lunged forward knocking the man to the ground smashing his head with his fist, but not before he got a shot off into the air.

Luka had raced back grabbing the man from behind, putting him in a head lock, choking the breath out of him, silencing him. Falling to the ground with the man, Luka established that he was breathing, just unconscious. Carter stood by staring in a silent panic. Joseph had backtracked to the pair motioning for them to run. Luka grabbed the baggie, throwing it into Joseph's hands. "You go, Joseph. **GO**. You know your way better. You can get there first."

Joseph took the baggie and started upstream, full speed. "I can make it, Luka. **_I can make it_**."

Luka gave Carter a shove as they both took off after Joseph, paying close attention to the terrain while keeping their ears wide open this time. They ran fast, stumbled often on the slick rocks and leaves, and got up just as quickly. The branches of the thick brush and rough bark of the scattered trees left marks on them as they ran into them, not feeling the pain of the abrasions. Carter took the lead at one point as Luka fell, lodging his foot in a tangled mess of tree roots.

"Go, Carter." Luka waived his arm in the air while trying in vain to free himself. "Get out of here."

Carter stopped and leaned down to help Luka. He wasn't leaving Luka behind. It took both of them, but they finally got Luka's foot out. They were on their way again, clawing their way back up the muddy embankment, but not before they heard the familiar voices of the rebels in back of them, to their left and in front of them. This time their guns were drawn.


	6. Over the River and Through the Woods

**POCKET CHANGE  
by Sharon R.**

_**Chapter Six  
**__**Over the River and Through the Woods…  
**_

Instinctively, they threw their arms up into the air, not wanting to give the rebels any reason to pull their triggers. Luka was already on the ground, having just yanked his trapped foot from the tree roots. Carter stood frozen, looking back and forth from Luka to the very angry, armed men when he was pushed to the ground from behind. His hands went out in front of him automatically to break the fall, but he quickly put them back in the air again when he managed to get to his knees. A slow trickle of blood made its way from the palm of his right hand down his wrist to his elbow, pain was there somewhere, but to Carter it was the least of his worries.

The same men who had moments before given the doctors a free jungle pass through their roving checkpoint, were now after the doctors who had not only deceived them, but who had also harmed one of their own. The rains stopped and the sun made a dramatic entrance through the dense coverage of palms, the rays hitting Luka and Carter like spotlights, forcing them to squint through the harsh, piercing illumination. They were held at gunpoint and sunlight. There was little sound other than their rapid, shakey breathing they tried to keep to themselves: a futile effort. A feeling of helplessness swooped down on the two as they were forced to look up at the rebels, they at them.

From a rustle in the brush behind the group emerged the young man Carter and Luka had subdued. His hand to his sore head, he pointed to Carter speaking with quick accusing words. A group of the rebels encircled Carter ranting at him, seemingly asking questions, none of which he could understand. Carter's eyes widened as he saw the backhand of the leader swish through the air at his face meeting his cheekbone with a stinging thud. He kept his arms raised but brought his elbows in to protect his face. Without thinking, Luka jumped to his feet throwing his own words out, some French, some in Joseph's language, which they had been practicing. He wasn't sure if he was being understood, in part or in whole. But enough of the words were to bring the mob of molten anger to a stop before Carter took any more blows. The leader stepped out of the crowd, pushing guns down and away as he made his way to Luka. He was the one who spoke French, asking questions, talking in an almost ironic calm voice with an equally smug smile.

Carter tried talking to the man, almost a vain attempt to reason with him. "Look, we're just doctors. Nous d'un médecin." The leader gazed his way and spat at Carter's feet. "We're trying to help a little girl. She's sick." The man ignored Carters useless words and pushed him aside choosing, instead, to deal with Luka, who spoke his language, properly.

The man wanted to know where the drugs were, motioning his men to do a search. He relished the power his status had afforded him, flaunting it in front of the other leader want-to-bee's. The black bag was dumped out onto the ground as Carter and Luka had their bodies frisked. Shirts up, waistbands turned down, rough hands groped them while gun butts maneuvered their body positions. When they were satisfied that they had nothing out of the usual, the young soldier spoke up again. The leader asked Luka where the third man went. "Where is the local man? Your guide?"

Luka did his best to buy Joseph some time, stumbling over his words, hoping to distract the men. "I don't know," he sputtered in French, "he left us - got scared."

Not satisfied, the leader continued hammering questions at Luka in French.

"Where are the drugs?"

"Why were you hiding them?"

"What is the value?"

"Who were you selling them to?"

"Where is the third man?"

And finally, "Who are you working for?

When the leader was satisfied that none of these questions could be, or would be answered, he stepped back away from Luka, giving his rebel colleagues room to do their jobs. Both Luka and Carter, already on their knees, felt a hard foot to the back pushing them forward, their heads forced down as their hands were tied tightly behind their backs. As if this was not enough, sacks were put over their heads, leaving them to see nothing but the brown burlap innards - the tight woven strings well worn from multiple uses. The smell was putrid - of their own sweat and stale breath and maybe of the previous hostage's.

Pulled to their feet, they were unceremoniously walked out of the wooded jungle area until they felt their feet meet the more even dirt road. "Luka?" Carter was unsure if they were still together. Luka answered back but both were given a good whack about the head as a reward for speaking up. The re-circulated, decaying, hot air they were forced to breath inside the bag was gagging. By moving their heads in a certain direction, they could encourage just a bit of fresh air to make its way in through the opening at their necks. They had to keep their wits about them just to stay on their feet. Balance was a big issue, even though there was a captor holding onto one or both of their upper arms. There was no way to see in front of them, to predict if they were still on the road or had veered off back into the jungle. Only the feel of the surface under their feet: hard packed road or the soft palm leaves over rutty tree roots of the jungle. Back and forth, they traveled from the roadway to the jungle, taking turns at falling and being pulled back up - sometimes laughed at by the rebels.

Finally they stopped - pushed into something metal. The leader spoke solely with Luka while ignoring Carter. Luka in turn translated for Carter. "It's a pick-up truck. They want us to get into it."

Once in the bed of the truck they were forced face down, to feel the rough ride of the truck as it hit all of the ruts and roots. Their faces battered even more with little more than the burlap bag to protect them. Added to the existing acerbic smells of the bag was the fetid exhaust. They fought their own bodies to keep from vomiting.

Luka felt a man's foot on his back, almost stepping on him. Another on the back of his head when a sudden jolt forced it to lift off the bed of the truck. Punched back down he felt a sharp pain to his nose that spread throughout his face, his eyes throbbing. The foot kept him from breathing little more than the rank air mixed with his own blood and spit.

When the truck stopped they were dragged out and taken on yet another hike through the unkind jungle. It was pouring again, the rain soaking the bags over their heads, the burlap sticking to their faces. They had to blow at the material to get it away from their noses and mouths just to reach breathable air. Water was a memory of long ago as their mouths became parched, their lips cracked. Occasionally one would fall and let out a groan in pain or frustration. This the only clue that they were still together.

It seemed like hours before they stopped. It was obvious from the sound of other voices that they were in the company of additional people. They stood there waiting. They were all waiting. For another truck? For orders? Had they arrived at some village? A commotion of feet shuffling in the graveled dirt preceded the metal clicking sound of guns being readied for fire. This certainly needed no visuals for comprehension. Luka and Carter were positioned side by side while their hoods were simultaneously removed. They each took deep breaths almost choking on the volumes of fresh air they gulped down. Looking at their surroundings as they adjusted their eyes to the daylight, they established that they were both together, albeit a bit beat up. But their attention was quickly drawn to an area in the clearing directly in front of them. Rebels stood, rifles propped at their shoulders, eyes aimed straight down the barrels at two blindfolded men kneeling with their backs to the guns. One of them was whimpering, almost pleading with the rebels. The other accepting of his fate.

With a slight turn of his head, the leader looked to see if Carter and Luka were perched and readied in the observation gallery. When he was satisfied that they were paying attention he gave just a slight nod to the first of the four men with guns. Carter caught on and as he let out a halted "_hey_… **_HEY_**," the shots were fired and the men slumped in death to the ground as their heads were split open by the bullets. Life went on as usual around them, men milling about, picking up the pieces while Carter and Luka stood in shock at what they had just witnessed. Carter took a step towards the dead men, almost a reflex of occupation, before he was grabbed from behind and thrown to the ground. With nothing to break his fall this time, his shoulder took the brunt of the force shooting pains through his chest and back.

Luka stepped towards Carter, but with his hands tied, he was useless to help. The leader, still standing to the side taking in all of his self-created drama and action almost as entertainment, motioned his men to untie Luka's hands. Looking straight at Carter, but talking to Luka, he surprised them by speaking faultless English, a very, very British accent in tow. "Well, alright then." One would think the man was acting as social director at a summer camp. "Help up your friend. I'll talk to you later."

Luka pulled Carter to his feet as the leader walked away, leaving them in the hands of the brutal and bored rebel pack. The burlap bags were pushed back over their heads as they were led away from the execution field, this time it was Luka keeping Carter in step. The blind leading the blind.

The journey this time was short, maybe several hundred yards. The creek of a door and they were both pushed inside a building, the door slammed and locked behind them. Planks of wood made up the floor where they sat down, making no sound, not knowing if they were alone and neither one wanting to take the chance to test the waters.

Finally, Luka felt comfortable enough with the rebel voices off in the distance to speak up. "I think we're alone." Reaching up he removed the bag from his head and took in his primitive and bare surroundings. A floor, four walls and a roof. Some of it corrugated tin, some wood, strapped, pounded or nailed together. A bucket in one corner, a pile of palm leaves in the middle - bedding, Luka guessed - and by the door two small bottles of water. Store bought. The place was selectively primitive. Primitive by choice. Interesting, Luka thought.

He walked over to Carter and removed his bag as well. "You OK?" Luka asked as he untied Carter's hands, giving him one of the bottles.

Carter was shaken, sore, but not about to be the loser. "Yeah. But you look like hell."

Luka looked at his shirt and spied the blood now dried from his unfortunate full-face collision with the floor of the truck bed. Carter stood and stretched wincing as he rotated his shoulder. He walked over to Luka and checked his face, feeling for broken bones. "No step-off. But your nose may never be quite so pretty again."

"Gee, thanks," Luka quipped, "your own face has seen better days."

The two doctors continued their comfortable silence, taking up opposite sides of the hut providing themselves with separate but equal living quarters. One small opening in the wood slats provided them with their only window to the outside world of the Congo. They exchanged niceties and took turns peering outside the tiny window, both unsure of their fate.

Day turned to night, water was again in short supply and neither doctor could get any sleep, although they were physically and mentally spent.

"What do you suppose they want to do with us?" Carter finally spoke up, barely able to make out Luka through the scant moonlight showing through the slits in the building structure.

Just as Luka was about to answer, someone pounded on the tin door. The pounding came repeatedly until the door finally opened and three men rushed inside. Luka and Carter didn't get much of a look at the men before they were turned around and the hoods put back on their heads.

They were on their way outside, once again.


	7. Hospitality and Hazing

**POCKET CHANGE  
by Sharon R.**

_**Chapter Seven  
**__**Hospitality and Hazing**_

Luka was walked down a path, he could tell by the even scuffling of dirt he felt under his feet. No tree roots to trip over. No up and over roadways. No large group with him either. Just a few other feet and the one person holding his arm. His hands had been tied during the scuffle in the hut to put the sacks back over their heads, but not as tightly as when they were first taken captive. It was just minutes, maybe ten, when they finally stopped. In French, the leader's voice told the other men to leave them. A strong hand from above forced Luka to sit on a log, and when the sack was removed he saw that he was alone with the leader in a small clearing encircled by trees. He thought he was alone until his squinting brought the few heavily armed men into focus hidden within the trees and brush beyond the boss-man. Another attempted illusion.

So there they were, face to face. Luka was surprised at his own comfort in the situation. One on one, certainly not with the upper hand, but at least the playing ground was leveling off - in Luka's eyes.

Between the two men was a fire pit, a small organized fire freshly built glowed in the dark night bringing a shine to the deep black skin of the man who looked quizzically at Luka. The two stared through the leaping flames at each other hearing only the crack and snap of the wet wood. The first words would not be Luka's, he was convinced of that. He didn't even want to give him the satisfaction of getting questions answered. Luka was stoic and proud. Keeping his stoicism above and beyond that of his captor was what he believed would keep him alive.

"Bonsoir." The man in charge sat on his log, a long automatic weapon at his side lazily within reach. "Well, what is your name?" He spoke with the cadence of a wartime interrogator, something that Luka was not easily frightened of, at least on the surface. It was the tyrant's familiarity and comfort of the situation that made Luka most uneasy.

"I can ask you in French if you wish. Hmmm? I think you would agree that it is in your best interest to answer my questions." The smile on Jules' face made Luka feel like he was being interviewed for a job.

The man was not appreciating Luka's silence. "Quel est ton nom? " Luka caught on that the familiar form of French was being used, as though they were long lost brothers. Vile.

Still, Luka veered his eyes from the man giving him no satisfaction.

"Où est-ce que vous habitez?"

Luka shifted his weight to relieve some of the pressure on his restrained hands behind his back. "You have all of my papers, my passport. You know who I am, where I'm from." Luka wanted to see what the man would do with a little attitude. "I'm the one who should be asking **_you _**that question."

"Come now, Luka. You are in **my **country." The man gave Luka a slight smile, one of concession, but certainly not of defeat. "But, fair enough, you may call me Jules." He tilted his head with a hint of arrogance wafting over his face. They continued their evening retreat by campfire, guns readied in the distance for atmosphere. Luka would not be an easy interview; he had an air about him that previous hostages lacked.

As the night wore on, Jules continued asking questions - none of which Luka was inclined to answer. By this time, he knew that Joseph had made it to the clinic and safety. Although he was unsure of the stability in the area, he did know that something had happened recently - it was in the air and Luka hoped that the safety that had enveloped Joseph and Toomay's village as well as the populated areas around the clinic had not collapsed.

After a while, a man entered the area carrying food and water. Luka noticed that Jules and his men rarely spoke in words, but instead had their own language of darting eyes, raised eyebrows and head tilts like a well rehearsed play. After the "waiter" placed one plate in front of Jules, then the other with Luka, someone came from behind to untie Luka's hands. Now what? Luka's stomach rumbled with hunger, the food - whatever it was - would have been very welcome to his system, if he ate it. He picked up the water and eagerly guzzled it down. However, he maintained his passive capacity, refusing the sustenance and snubbing the captor's meal. With a nod of his head, Jules signaled one of his men to leave the area, which he did so with purpose.

Jules ate his meal, taking his time to enjoy each bite while occasionally glancing across at Luka who continued his silent, but hungry, protest. "My hospitality does not please you?" The man consumed his feast as though he were royalty in the finest of five-star restaurants, holding his fork backside up like the Europeans. He ate in morsels and chewed as though a nanny was monitoring him for proper etiquette. After he finally finished, Jules picked up a linen napkin, dabbed his mouth, and without taking his eyes off Luka, raised his empty plate to the side for removal by his cronies who magically appeared. It was a wonder that there were no bells to ring for servants. Luka's plate was left in front of him, silverware still neatly tucked into the napkin.

"Why don't you want to talk to me, Luka? Huh? I give you food, water. We can have nice conversation." The man talked as though he were sharing martinis over a game of chess. "Is it so bad that we try to get to know one another?"

Luka decided to speak up once and only once. "I choose not to talk with the evil that has taken away my freedom and threatened my life."

Jules stood and had a good, hearty laugh. His body shook with amusement, his face snidely laughing with utter contempt as he adjusted the waistband of his slacks to accommodate his stuffed belly. "Surely, you jest," he spouted between gut laughs, mocking an American accent. The man was full of himself making no mistake of his authority. "I'll ask you one more time, Luka, where did you get the drugs and where is the third man that was with you?"

Luka looked straight through the tall man's eyes, saying absolutely nothing. He would not give in and play his game.

The power struggle was not an issue in the leader's eyes. With a snap of his fingers another armed man made his way out of the thick jungle and walked to his side. Without taking his eyes off Luka, Jules whispered something into the ear of the rebel, and then waved him off. "I think you will find that we have a lot in common, Luka."

Luka grimaced at the thought of ever having something in common with an animal like Jules and continued his silence. As the evening slipped into dawn Jules stood and tucked his shirt neatly into his waistband. "I hope that we will see eye to eye next time we speak, Luka. I bid you goodnight... or is it good day?" He walked off into the woods leaving his men to hood Luka and lead him back to the hut, hands untied.

He felt as though he had been left all alone in the middle of nowhere. The bag left on his head, hands tied behind his back. Carter wondered if he had been taken out into the jungle and set loose, like the butt of a bad prep school joke, a hazing of sorts. He strained to listen for any sound that would give him a clue as to what his circumstances were. So far nothing outside of the normal night time jungle creature clatter, the wisps of evening breeze providing the background percussion rubbing and tapping the heavy foliage against each other. Safety, he thought. Safety… or doom. Even if he was alone, he was nothing more than a blind idiot in a grain sack. For a moment, he caught himself looking at the humorous side of possibly wandering around aimlessly, bumping into trees, rubbing his head against the bark trying to get the bag off. How long had he been standing there? An hour? Two? Apathy got the best of him at that point as he mockingly spouted off, "Hello, anybody home?"

Carter was blind-sided with a blow to his head so hard that his left ear popped and buzzed. His body slammed to the ground on his side with someone's knee from above grinding Carter's hips together as though his pelvic structure was a waste of God's time. He let out a groan, expending all of the possible air left in his young, healthy lungs until they too hurt. With a protective reflex, he curled on the ground into a fetal position wanting desperately to have his hands free to wrap around his chest. Instead, he chose to remain still and silent. What other choice did he have?

More time elapsed with no discernable sound of voices. Adding to the torture of silence was the shuffling of feet that would come and go, the closer they got, the more alarmed Carter would be. But they came and went almost as though he was a spectacle in a zoo. Finally, he heard the sound of someone walking into the area, or at least the pant legs the person was wearing rubbing together. Then - whispering. His hands were untied, but only to be bound again in front of him, his body dragged several feet. He tried in vain to get to his knees but was never given the opportunity. His arms stretched out in front of him, palms together, he knew that - face down in the dirt - his hands were being tied to a wooden pole. He could only breathe what came from the other side of the bag and the dirt of the jungle floor was not conducive at all to respiration. Carter choked as he fought for a workable space within the bag to get a dust free breath. His shirt shifted up from inside his waste band exposing the bare skin of his back to the biting bugs of Africa in the moonlight.

It seemed as though there would be no end to the night as he laid there with his pride and soul exposed to whomever or whatever wanted to steal it. His ears became his best friend, at least his right ear. He listened for the feet, the sounds of the animals beginning to come to life as dawn approached. Finally, a man's voice - a deep voice - spoke up. But before Carter could hope for an end to the bizarre night of horror, he heard a _whish-snap _and the immediate pain of his skin tearing on his back.

_**Oh God, he thought. Not again… **_

_whish-snap _

_whish-snap _

His skin burned as the whip seared and sliced it open. If he could have gotten his knees up under him he would have coiled up like a battered and hunted rabbit. He had to concentrate on other things to keep from letting out the groans he so wanted to release from his throat, but to give in was not in his nature. A fourth time, _whish-snap_, and then, no more.

Finally, he was hoisted up by the armpits and led away like a dog, his arms the anchor for the leash. In all the time away from the hut he had had no water, no food and was never without the bag over his head. Exhaustion overcame him as his adrenalin rush wore off, causing him to drag his feet and stumble along the way.

The door flew open as Carter was thrown inside, just behind him he heard someone else enter the hut. With the slamming of the door, Luka spoke up quickly, as he removed his bag. "Well, that was interesting." It was still dark, the sun poised to make an appearance within minutes. He saw Carter lying on the floor beyond him. "Hey Carter, I think we should play Good Cop/Bad Cop. Tomorrow maybe I'll find some goodness and speak to the turd. What do you think?"

"I think they thought of it first." Carter rolled over in the direction of Luka's voice. "Can you get my hood off?"

The darkness was easing, bringing Carter's form into view. Luka moved over to him and removed the bag from his head. He was surprised that his hands were bound. "Your hands are…" He saw from the young sunlight stabbing through the slats of the building that Carter had been beaten in the head, blood coming from his ear. His hands bound so tightly that his fingers were enlarged and wrists melded together as one.

Luka helped Carter to sit up noticing that his shirt had been flogged into nothing more than rags. This was more; more than he had ever believed was humanly possible. But then again, it was becoming clear that these were not men of human nature who were acting as their hosts.


	8. Playing the Game

**POCKET CHANGE  
by Sharon R.**

_**Chapter Eight  
**__**Playing the Game  
**_

If there was one thing Carter was sure of, it was that Luka was right about the locals: they did not like him as much as they did Luka. He was hurting, thirsty, hungry and exhausted. His back felt as though he had been branded like a bull, over and over. Yet, beyond the aches and pains of his body, his spirit was still standing, and he had hoped that they would be freed.

"Ouch!" Luka was removing what remained of the back side of Carter's shirt to examine his wounds. The cotton had dried and scabbed with the blood making the removal difficult, and without proper instruments, it was not easy on either of them. "_Ow_…" He arched his back as Luka pulled, yet, more of the shirt from within the sliced flesh.

"Don't be a baby, Carter," Luka spoke coyly. "Well, I've seen worse. We need some clean water." Luka walked to the door and pounded on it, causing Carter to jump. "**_Hey_**…. We need some water." He pounded just as fiercely on the inside as the rebels did on the outside when they came to get the doctors. Only the rebels were not exactly eager to let in the Avon Lady.

"Luka, hey," Carter was getting nervous about Luka's fury at the door, "hey, it's okay. They won't leave us in here all day." He lay down on his stomach, exhausted, airing his wounds. "I just want to sleep anyway."

One more kick to the door and Luka gave up. "What happened? Did you piss them off?"

"Evidently." Carter's eyes were closing as he began to drift off. "I just stood there all by myself for an hour or two. Then it was like open season."

"They're playing us against each other." Luka was standing against the door, hands behind his back. Looking over at Carter and seeing the shape he was in, he knew exactly what happened.

"Well, I pissed off my guy and it looks like you paid for it."

"What do you mean?" Carter was awake now and turned on his side. "Someone actually talked to you?"

"His name is Jules."

"Like the family Jewels?"

"Something like that." Luka was hesitant to share everything with Carter. The food, the water.

"I think he's the one in charge. Speaks with a British accent."

"Hey, I speak a little English. I'd talk to him." Carter eagerly volunteered.

"It's not that…" Just then, Luka was interrupted by the door opening. A faceless arm thrust in a bucket, rag and a few bottles of water. Luka opened a bottle and poured it over Carter's wounds. "I hope you don't get an infection."

"Me too." Carter spoke as though he were a boy being read a bedtime story. "Tell me more about this Jules."

"Well," Luka was again hesitant to divulge the comforts of his own interrogation, "I don't know much. I do know that he wants information about Joseph and Sean."

"Let me guess. You didn't play along."

"Nope. And to make matters worse, I showed poor manners and refused his fine food. Pissed him off."

"Was this about an hour or two into your meeting?" Finally, Carter was putting two and two together.

Luka nodded and the two exchanged knowing looks. They remained through the day listening to what little they could hear, nodding off hoping to curb the exhaustion they had built up. Every few hours or so, someone would bang on the door, the two would don their hoods and one of the rebels would enter the hut yelling unintelligible words at the top of his lungs. Keeping the prisoners hungry, thirsty and tired was obviously the tactic of choice.

"Talk to them, Luka. Tell them anything, anything except about Joseph and Sean. Just keep them busy." Carter was desperate for a reprieve.

Luka, on the other hand, was not willing to play house with Jules. "He's scum, Carter."

"Sounds like he's full of himself." Carter stretched out, painfully. "I don't know. If he just wants to talk, and that keeps the dogs off me…"

"Okay," Luka conceded, "maybe I can play some subtle head games with his simple mind - see if I can divert attention away from you."

With the evening sky came more rain. It pounded on the metal strips of the hut, covering up the voices outside and their own growling stomachs. With what little water they were given long since gone, they were once again into that part of the cycle where their bodies pulled from within to rationalize the parchness. Their minds became the fulcrum, balancing their body's desperate need for food and water against the innate need to survive with some sort of functioning sanity.

That night became the second of many such nights. Luka escorted to a remote location, joined by Jules with enticements of food and water. All in return for conversation with the egotistical despot, who thought himself to be a major demi-god; ruler of all who crossed his path and breathed his air. While Carter was either left behind to ponder his life within the confines of the hut, or dragged off to be the muse of the despot's underlings and wanna-bees.

Jules continued to ask about the two doctors. He wanted to know intricate details of their suppliers, who brought the medicines and from where they came. Luka continued his vagueness, claiming that they were not allowed to know details to protect the program itself.

"Look, you need to understand that I cannot tell you the information you want." Luka grasped to hold onto the weak security his conversation gave Carter. "I will tell you all that I know, agreed?"

Jules nodded in agreement. "I think I understand. And I will be equally forthcoming with you." With this, he lifted his water bottle in a mock toast.

At one point, after several days and nights - possibly weeks - of which the two doctors could only guess on the exact passage of time, Luka found himself falling into Jules' life - speculating about the psyche that drove this man to do what he did. At the same time, Luka remembered Joseph talking about surviving captivity as a hostage and one piece of information in particular that stood out: make direct eye contact with your captors to make them put a human value on your life. Luka strained to make the effort but it seemed that Jules was more than comfortable connecting eyes with him. It made Luka nauseas.

"Tell me about yourself, Luka." The mad man's words were slow and methodical. Satisfaction came with bits and pieces of Luka's soul as he played the game.

"I ask you first. You seem to enjoy putting me at a disadvantage." Luka was taking a walk on the wild side, quite literally. "Tell me about Jules." With that, Luka picked up the plate of food and took a bite. A small gesture to signify that he was willing to partake of the sport, this time in exchange for Jules' answers.

"My parents were killed by warring factions when I was a little boy. I was taken in and raised by British missionaries. Spent a couple years in England at University, but my calling was here in my homeland. You understand that, don't you Luka?"

This made perfect sense to Luka. He, too, fought for his country. He managed a courteous nod.

"When I returned, I met a beautiful woman. She took my breath away." Jules spoke with a quieter voice now, almost as though sharing an intimate secret. Smiling, averting his familiar gaze away, almost vulnerable, Luka thought. "She gave me two children. They had her beauty, her sweetness. My son was slight, but strong willed - and - funny." He wiped his mouth, handed off his dish and stood up. A pattern now familiar to Luka. But this time instead of standing safely on his side of the fire, he walked around and sat next to Luka, who shivered inside just slightly at the feel of the man's body heat. He could have sworn he felt a slight vibration even. "When my oldest child was eight years old, government troops invaded our village. They knew my political power." He paused to glance at Luka, to make sure he had his attention. "They killed my wife and children in front of me and left me with their cold bodies."

Luka was taken aback by the suddenness of Jules' confession, making him sit up straight.

Jules hung his head, speaking in hushed tones out of ear shot of his protection hiding in the jungle nearby. "They cut off the heads of my children. Held my wife's face close enough so that their blood splashed into her eyes. Then they shot her in the head. She was pregnant."

Totally out of character, as Luka knew it, Jules stood and walked away. "I am sorry, Luka. I have to go now. Please take some food back to your friend." Hands in his pockets, head hung low, he abruptly left the campfire.

Luka reached down and grabbed the plate, the man in charge of taking him back and forth added a few round slabs of Chapati, hooded Luka for the hike and escorted him back to the hut where Carter was waiting.

He had been given a reprieve that day. Made to stand again without water and food. But Carter was only pushed around, the subtle pounding burning his existing abrasions. It lasted only a short time before he was led back to the hut, water in hand this time.

Luka entered with the plate of food. Carter could smell it long before the doors closed and they removed their hoods. "Where did that come from?"

Luka gave him the plate but Carter hesitated to dig in. "Don't worry, Carter, I already tasted it for you."

The food was the first for Carter in many days, other than the occasional Chapati or corn. "What did you have to do for this?" It tasted great, and he appreciated every bite.

"Nothing," Luka scratched his head, "but listen, Carter. He has a weakness, and its one that I know all too well."

"I'm listening." Carter gulped down the rest of the dinner.

"His parents were killed by troops when he was a boy. Then some years ago they came back and killed his wife and children in front of him, to make a point." Carter was paying attention now. "It's a weakness in his spirit. I can work off that, gain his trust and confidence."

"Maybe buy us time to escape?" Carter was thinking ahead. "Luka, you do what he tells you, you know? Play the game, eat his food if he wants you to. But don't piss him off. With one of us staying strong we have a chance to escape. But if we're both weak, well, nothing will change."

That day was relatively quiet for the two. Water was still scarce, as was food. But they were left alone. They both got their share of sleep and as nightfall came their ears became their best friend again. The jungle had noises for the day and night. And at night when the jungle chatter came to a halt they knew that rebels were walking nearby, and they were usually making a house call.

That night they were caught off-guard as the door flung open and the man who originally caught Carter with the Vancomycin stormed in.


	9. Patients and Patience

**POCKET CHANGE  
by Sharon R.**

_**Chapter Nine  
**__**Patients and Patience **_

Bolting to their feet, Luka and Carter struggled to find their burlap bags. They had become so familiar with the sounds of the night and the approaching rebels that they didn't have to wait for the pounding on the door to pull the bags over their heads. This time there was no warning, and this particular guest put an anxious fear into Carter.

Shouting came from the man, but not with the volumes of ear splitting decibels the two had grown accustomed to. He pushed his way in, whipping off Carter's bag - grabbing Luka's out of his hand - throwing them to the side. Both doctors put their hands out in front of them trying to show the heavily armed rebel their willingness to stand down. Of course, the long automatic weapon he pointed their way had a lot to do with it.

Carter's heart was pounding fiercely knowing that not too long before, this very same man was all too willing to kill him for the generous thump on the head Carter gave him. The gun was pointed at both of them but was jabbed more in Carter's direction as the man was trying in vain to communicate with Luka. With each jab Carter let out a quiet "Okay, _okay_," eventually putting him to his knees, hands cautiously behind his head. But the man wasn't even interested in his previous aggressor. He was talking in fast jargon to Luka, trying to get a point across to him. What did he want? Would their fate be met that night? Or maybe just Carter's?

"I don't understand you." Luka was speaking on top of the rebel, who kept up his hushed foreign pleas. " Je ne sais pas." French, English and possibly Lingala was all going on at the same time, neither reciprocating the other's pleas.

The man wasn't speaking French but Luka hoped that a few rudimentary phrases would get through to him. "Je ne comprends pas."

They continued talking on top of and above each other, one in French, the other in Lingala or one of the other 200 dialects spoken in this region of Africa, as Carter looked on worried that the frantic man would get careless with his trigger finger as he became more and more frustrated. His words may have been pointed at Luka, but the gun was squarely aimed at Carter's chest and getting closer.

Finally, Luka spoke up loud, with enough emphasis to make the man stop his banter and take a deep breath. With great effort, like a vague tourist in the middle of Paris, the man scratched enough of his elementary French together to get his point across.

"Mon fils est malade. J'ai besoin d'un médecin."

With that, he turned and stepped out the door just enough to pull a child inside. His gun at his side, he looked at Luka but turned his back on Carter. "S'il vous plaît."

Carter nervously looked between the two men, finally daring to speak up. "What's going on, Luka?"

"His son is sick. He wants us to help." Carter slowly put his arms to his side and sat his backside down against his heels, still not ready to get up from his knees.

The man pushed the apprehensive boy towards Luka, the gun finally slung over his shoulder. Carter eyed the open door wondering for a moment, just a moment, if he had what it took to make an escape.

It was all guesswork. General appearances and hands-only exam told Luka that the child was feverish, though the fever was probably not over 102 degrees. Thick mucus drained from his sinuses. He was well hydrated; heartbeat was a bit rapid, but within normal limits for a fever… and a child of a gun wielding maniacal man. "I need the medical bag."

The man looked at him incredulously while Carter and Luka made gestures to imitate medical equipment. A stethoscope. Otoscope. Bandages.

In between the sign language, Carter managed a bit of levity under his breath. "Jungle Rebel Charades. Can't wait until next week's game night. Hope there's refreshments. But I'm much better at Jeopardy. "

Finally, the man bolted from the room leaving Luka and Carter with the boy. His round face shined from the fever, his white teeth bright against his dark, black skin. Luka reached out and stroked his cheek emoting a quick, bashful smile. Luka topped that by putting his thumbs on the side of his head, pointing his fingers up, sticking out his tongue and blowing raspberries at the boy. The boy giggled but quickly caught himself, covering his mouth.

"Doing a little Hans Christian Anderson?" Carter sat off to the side amused at Luka's connection to the child.

"What?"

"Hans Christian Ander….. Danny Kaye?"

Luka shook his head.

"Never mind," Carter chuckled.

The man came back in and closed the door behind him. This time he had the medical bag that was confiscated when they were first taken captive. Luka opened the bag and took out the stethoscope first. The boy's heart and lungs checked out. Reaching back in the bag, Luka found a tongue depressor. "Where's the otoscope?"

Carter scooted towards Luka lifting an outside flap taking out the otoscope. Incensed that Carter attempted to make his presence known, the man pushed him backwards with the butt of the gun. He toppled back into the banana frons they used for bedding and found that the medical bag had hooked onto his shoe and hid in the oversized leaves.

Luka found postnasal drip in the boy's otherwise unremarkable throat. His left ear exhibited a classic otitis media. He had an ear infection. Pointing to the boy's ear, he did his best to indicate that he had a sick ear. "Where's the bag?"

After making eye contact with the man, Carter carefully pushed the bag back to Luka who found some ibuprofen and amoxicillin, neither of which Luka was sure were still good after lingering in the jungle heat and humidity. Using the man's own wristwatch, he showed him the frequency of dosage. Once every eight hours for the amoxicillin. Then the ibuprofen: he pointed to the ear again and said, "ouch, ouch," showing the man every six hours for pain. Then a thumbs up sign as a symbol of prognosis.

Just as quickly as he came, the man grabbed the bag, pushed the boy out the door and left the hut.

"Think he understands?" Carter wondered.

"I don't know, and I don't care. Let's try and get some sleep."

Carter moved over to the frons where Luka was about to settle in. "Don't do that." He reached under Luka's arm and moved the frons aside exposing a cache of their own weapons.

"What's that?" Luka squatted down in the dark hut to try and see what Carter was pointing out. Carter scooped up the bounty and walked over to the tiny window, their night light of sorts.

"While you two were checking out the boy's ears I reached in the bag and managed to get two handfuls of things out. I did it blind, so I don't know what I got." In his arms were a couple rolls of bandages, a needle and syringe, some plastic tubing and a vial of diazepam.

"What did you have in mind for this stuff?" Luka was surprised at Carter's resourcefulness.

"I don't know. Maybe we could drug one of the night guards. There's usually only one of them."

"That we know of," Luka finished the thought for Carter. "There's not enough diazepam for a quick IM result. We'd probably have to go intra abdominally, but it might kill him."

What they could possibly do with their new secret stash kept them occupied that night. "Going to have to start calling you MacGuyver, Dr. Carter."

Carter got a laugh out of that. Luka didn't know Hans Christian Anderson, but MacGuyver? No problem. "How are things going with Jules? How's that working for you?"

"Well, he thinks highly of himself."

"And you get food and water."

"I'm sorry, Carter. Look, I….." Luka was uncomfortable with the advantages he had over Carter. "I just don't know how I should deal with that."

Carter shook his head as he looked down at the floor. "It's okay. You have to do what you have to do. If eating his food keeps their whipping sticks and fists from me, then eat it. Look, we just have to buy some time. Keep them satisfied with talking, eating, whatever it takes. Maybe we can escape. Maybe the government militia is looking for us."

"I know. But you get no food and you are getting dehydrated. I feel like a dog at the mercy of his brutal master." Luka sat back down on the huge leaves and began to arrange them into a makeshift bed.

"A dog?" Carter chuckled and mumbled to himself. "Just don't eat any eggs."

Luka heard that and was puzzled. "Another television joke?"

"No, something from my past. My family." Carter lay down on his side of the hut. They were like two boys at summer camp. Only the camp counselors carried guns and machetes.

"On Saturdays my grandfather turned on every radio in the house so he could listen to **_Live from the Met._** It was the weekly opera from the Metropolitan Opera in New York City."

"Not a fan of classic opera?" Luka enjoyed the opera, but was not about to spoil the story.

"He blasted it through the whole house. And when he discovered the Bose Wave radio – yikes! I wasn't allowed to listen to my music at a volume louder than a whisper." Carter was smiling as he remembered his grandparents fondly.

"What did you do?" Luka asked. "Did you have to listen to that every weekend?"

"I had excuses to get out of the house sometimes. But that got old, so I complained to Gamma. She gave me some mild lip service about my grandfather's passion and it being his house. But," Carter put his finger to the air, "she said she would see what she could do. You see, we had this loyal Golden Retriever, Beauregard, that followed Grandpa around everywhere he went, from room to room. Eventually, every Saturday Beau started having really bad gas. I mean it was **_foul_**! Every time the opera was on Grandpa was gassed out. He finally called the vet who suggested the opera had become a source of anxiety for the dog and he should limit it to one room with the doors closed."

The two were laughing aloud now as Luka was catching on. "What did she do?"

"It seems that Gamma had been feeding the dog hard boiled eggs in the kitchen. The old man never found out! From then on he stayed in the study with one radio on. Problem solved compliments of one smart, old lady." The laughter waned as Carter remembered his grandparents with fondness.

Over the next few days, Carter and Luka were taken from the hut sporadically through the day and night. They were kept sleep deprived and Carter was only given small quantities of water upon his return to the hut, an occasional bit of stale food thrown in behind him.

Luka continued his excursions to the clearing. Even though he was hooded during the short trek, he knew it by heart. Once there he was given some food and water, but only after he had participated in discussion with Jules. They talked about their wives and children. About their deaths. Luka even felt at times as though he could see inside Jules' head. They shared a similar past with such a different outcome. He began to get comfortable with his captor.

Carter's outdoor activities took place in the open either in the rain or in hot sun. His hood always over his head, his hearing became very acute and could predict the blows he was about to receive. A good stick with force behind it sounded like a _shwaaap_, and usually left a mark. He usually got at least one good smack a day. Sometimes more. By hearing them approach, he could tense his muscles and hope to give himself some sort of protection.

On one of these days, it became obvious that he was the muse of the camp. Several people were present and the smell of food wafted up under his hood. The men laughed as Carter tilted his head to get another hint of nourishment. Finally, someone pulled the bag from his head and there in front of him was a line of about ten men sitting on the ground holding dinner plates of a mush-like substance and stale bread. They found themselves in amusement at eating in front of the malnourished white man, while Carter tried hard to ignore the sights and smells.

Carter knew that the men probably didn't speak English and decided to have fun with them. "Your trusted leader is dining in elegance with my friend. Dr. Kovac is eating better than you are. You know that?" The men looked at each other unaffected by this revelation. "They're all buddy buddy. Telling my friend all about his wife and kids." Carter was getting his own amusement out of this. "Any of you guys do the honors and chop off his kids' heads?"

They all laughed again, food eagerly showing from between their unkempt teeth. One man stood up - the Master of Ceremonies, Carter assumed - and walked in front of him. This one spoke a choppy form of English, enough to understand Carter. "Jules, never have no wife and kids." Carter swallowed hard as the bad body odor preceded the man gingerly walking up into his face. "He my cousin. Only man here who do head chopping is Jules." The man had an evil laugh and drew his finger swiftly across his own neck. Then, holding his hand up to his ear like a telephone receiver, he hauntingly taunted him, and with a crude accent looked Carter in the eyes and spoke, "Hello, Carter Foundation. How may I help you?"

The last call he made on his cell phone was to the Foundation office to finalize some business. All they had to do was press redial to get that information, or at least the number. This gave him a sinking feeling. Carter's instant hope that he would be saved for a ransom was dashed with the thought that Luka was being used while Jules knew all along who they were, trying to get information on Sean and Joseph with the phony story about his own non-family. It wouldn't take much, even in the Congo, to get information on either of them and the press in Chicago probably used both of their backgrounds as fodder for sensational banner stories. The instant connection to the Carter Foundation most likely was the frosting on he cake. He wondered if he should tell him. Luka had a temper and Carter decided to keep this information to himself to protect both of them, knowing that Luka could keep up the act with Jules as long as he thought that he had the upper hand. This would be a tricky balancing act for this muse and a test of his patience.


	10. To Stockholm and Back

_**POCKET CHANGE  
**by Sharon R._

_**Chapter Ten  
**__**To Stockholm and Back**_

Luka felt as though he was making headway with Jules. They both did their fare share of talking, mostly about their families. Sometimes in French, but usually in English. Luka figured if he could continue to make Jules believe that he was succeeding in his quest to make Luka sympathetic and subservient for just a bit longer, Carter would be spared and they might have a chance to escape.

Once again, he made the walk "home" to the hut. His hands tied in front of him loosely, hood over his head. Unlike Carter, he was given a bit of sustenance and just enough water to get by, but he was just as sleep deprived. They were barely given an hour or two of slumber before being loudly awakened. Luka found his eyes closing inside his hood as he tried to count the days they had been in the jungle rebel camp. He used his footsteps as he counted. The first day after being chased, then meeting Jules and keeping up with Carter's mounting bruises. First was the whipping, then the beating to his head then,… then… the fourth day he started getting food, then… then …only one night without rain and the last few days were so hot… then. He lost count of the days. Was it ten? Or twelve? No, it was definitely more than two weeks. He stood still, his mind in a quandary like quicksand. Sinking in the numbers as his eyes stayed closed and his head fell forward, his knees buckling under his drained body ever so slowly.

_**Thwaaaaack! **_

His body pounded into the dirt from the force to his hip from a club the guards carried with them. Carter had been introduced to Mr. Club earlier in their stay, but this was Luka's first meeting. He propped himself to a sitting position as quickly as possible to maintain some sort of face, then a familiar voice came from a distance, coming closer and closer. The angry voice was Jules' cussing out the guard. He kept his distance, but the tone of the lecture was not lost on Luka.

After being helped to his feet, and having his pants surprisingly brushed of dirt by someone, he was led to the hut, the door gently shut behind him. He was alone, Carter had not yet been returned. For the first time in all those days, Luka was left alone all day. He paced and stopped every few feet at the few narrow slits in the walls to check for any sign of him. Finally, he spied a group of men in the distance guiding Carter back with the signature hood over his head. One man on each arm, Carter standing tall.

Luka threw on his own hood as before the ritual banging on the door. Thrown in with Carter were two bananas and one small bottle of water.

"They really need to find a new cook." Carter picked up one of the bananas and took his time eating between gulps of water before halting abruptly to mentally head off the nausea.

"Nauseas?" Luka handed the bucket to him - the piss bucket - but Carter, realizing the smell of it alone would make him puke, pushed it away with his hand. "You're dehydrated, Carter. Slow down."

"Yeah. I'm okay. Thanks." He tossed the half-eaten banana at the closed door, hitting it with a wet _thunk_, before laying on his side and closing his eyes. He didn't want to talk. The temptation to tell Luka what he knew about Jules was too strong.

The silence was almost too obvious to Luka. They had been forced by situation to at least be civil to each other, and by Luka's scorecard they had actually been making points. But this night he could feel the tension as the two once again took up opposite ends of the dark, dank building, the rain plonking on the tin roof. Carter averted his eyes from Luka, even strung a bad tune together from the notes struck above them. No sarcastic remarks about the rebels. No talk of home. Just business as usual.

"What are you thinking about, Carter?"

"Nothing." Carter didn't want to blurt it out and instead turned onto his other side, giving Luka nothing but his backside to look at. "Just tired."

Clearing his throat, Luka tried to get his attention. "I've been thinking about how we could escape." Still no reaction. "Usually just after they do a roust-about in the middle of the night, they all disappear except one guy. Maybe we could lure him. You could inject the diazepam while I hold him down. What do you think?"

"It could work. Sure." Carter's previous enthusiasm for an escape was muffled. It had become a topic of discussion they both looked forward to - something to pin their hopes on. But he didn't want to talk, unsure of his ability at this point to keep from letting Luka know about Jules' head game.

"Look, I just don't have anything to talk about right now." He spied Luka moving closer searching for more conversation. He didn't want to piss him off but… "I'm not Joseph. I have absolutely nothing in common with you, Luka. So just back off." He cringed at that barb he threw at Luka but hoped it would get him to back down. Carter was so afraid that in his exhausted and malnourished state he would tell Luka all he knew.

Luka stopped dead not wanting to give Carter the satisfaction of that snotty dig. "Joseph is a fine man and a good friend. If you had given him the chance you would have seen that."

"Well, just keep talking then. You and Jules may end up bosom buddies as well." Carter had gone too far, and he knew it. But he was too exhausted to make amends and fell off to sleep.

Luka sat watching Carter as he tossed and turned on the frons. His attitude had changed. Almost seemed like he had surrendered to the situation, whereas before that night he was optimistic that they would escape. Always looking for logical explanations in their favor. Three times during the night, the rebels banged on the door and hustled the two exhausted doctors to their feet, each rousting finding Luka and Carter rising with less urgency.

As the sun was rising Luka finally got the courage to ask Carter what he had suspected all night. "Did you talk to them? Hmm? What did you tell them, Carter?"

"_**What?" **_

"I don't know, Carter. It's like you're hiding something."

"Pardon me for getting my ass kicked on a daily basis so **you **can eat at Chez Jules." Carter walked into Luka's face not afraid to get real personal. "**I'm** not the one doing all the talking."

They stood staring at each other in fractured silence as they heard the approaching rebels coming for their morning wake-up call. "I'm sorry," Carter managed, "that was uncalled for."

Before Luka's boiling blood got a chance to spill over onto Carter, they were summoned to their daily retreats.

In the clearing, Luka was left alone for quite a while before Jules showed up carrying their meals. They talked about their wives, how they managed to wind their respective husband's around their dainty little fingers.

"My wife," Jules chuckled, "she was so easy to talk to. Everyone loved her. There were always visitors at our home. They never came to see _me_, though."

"My Danijella was quiet. If all we had was each other, that was enough for us." Luka cracked a slight smile as he looked away from Jules, taking in the soothing memory. "I've never really had the need for a lot of friends."

Jules quietly slid closer to him as his mind drifted. "But I bet you found a friend or two here in Congo. My people are warm. Always have open arms."

"I knew the minute we pulled into Ikela," Luka smiled as he managed the words around his bites of food, looking at his plate- almost forgetting where he was, "Joseph and Toomay are like family. It has been _so _long since…" Luka's heart raced as he caught himself blurting out what he had tried so hard to keep secret. He stood up trying to get away from the line of questioning, questioning himself instead, the only noise being his plate smacking to the ground from his lap. He could not talk anymore, not sure if he could trust himself.

"Who is that? Joseph and Toomay. Hmmm?" Jules' voice had lost the previous melancholy edge. His voice changed, became lower and business-like.

"No one." Luka bit his cheek wanting this to all go away "I'm done today. No more."

Jules quietly walked away, leaving Luka alone with the rebel guards around him for the better part of the scorching day, his sudden absence a mystery. Upon his return, he slammed Luka with the same questions he had asked when they first met.

"Who gave you the drugs, Luka? Where do they come from?"

"We aren't given specific information. The supplies are delivered when we need them. That's all." Luka was puzzled by Jules' change in demeanor, but not for long.

"That's not what Dr. Carter said. Seems he's a bit more willing to strike up a friendship here than you." Jules was enjoying himself.

The breaking point flew right into Luka and made itself very evident as he stood straight up and walked out of the clearing not cognizant of the weaponry and savage rebels positioned around him. He instinctively traveled the same way he had gotten there all of those days, this time with eyes wide open. His stride was wide and furious, pushing the leaves and frons of the jungle away as he found the center of the camp and their hut. Catching the men off guard, they stumbled and stammered to their positions giving chase, only to be called back by Jules who followed.

Slamming the door of the hut open, he found it empty and turned to where he heard voices in the distance. His anger tore through his being and gave him courage to push the rebels aside who dared to get in his way. Around the few corners of the jungle maze he finally found Carter squatting in the open sun, hood over his head, hands tied in front of him.

Luka never stopped as he bulldozed Carter to the ground, the hood flying off.

Carter assumed he was getting a new form of torture with hands and fists until Luka's angry face met his. Not just angry. Enraged. He had already taken a fair beating that day. He had been laughed at and taunted with unreachable food. Now his only ally was attacking him.

Luka took Carter by the shoulders and slammed his upper back into the ground as he straddled his body. "You had to do it? You don't care about anybody but yourself, Carter. **_You son of a bitch._**"

Carter tried in vain to get Luka's attention. He had no clue why this was happening. "**_Stop_**. Luka. What are you talking about?" He put his hands, strapped together at the wrists, in front of his face. His elbows thrust out hoping to get the larger Luka off him. The men continued to roll around spewing up dirt and debris as the rebels cheered them on. The sounds of the humored Africans didn't register at first with the two. Finally, they were separated and taken back to the hut. The last person Luka saw before being thrown unceremoniously through the door was Jules, who wore a smug smile.

They both came to their senses, turning their backs on one another, catching their breath. Carter's hands were still tied as he reached up to wipe the blood from his lips and nose. Luka had his own scrapes and bruises to tend to, but chose instead to brood about what he was not sure of.

"You risked both of our lives and Joseph and his family's by talking. Do you realize that?"

"I didn't say anything." Carter was exasperated.

"Funny. That's not what Jules said."

"Jules. _JULES_ …" Carter walked over to Luka and spun him around, forcing him to listen. "Do you hear yourself? You believe that scum over me. _He's **not** **your friend**, Luka_." A sinking feeling came to Luka as he began to assimilate what had happened.

"Don't you see what they are doing to us?" Carter's bound and filthy hands were in the air, in front of Luka's face, begging him to face reality. "They know everything about us. They used my cell phone and are probably talking with the Foundation about a ransom. They are playing head games with you in hopes that you will talk."

Luka felt betrayed by himself. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because your anger comes out sideways - like just now. I wanted to stretch out the time we had as much as we could. Let them play their game and we could stall until we both could make a break for it. You're not always a team player Luka, I had to do it."

"I was trying to keep you alive." Luka was not at all taking this well.

"No. I kept **you** alive. My money is what is keeping me alive." There was nothing humble or boasting in the way he mentioned the Carter fortune. "But I can't be sure that the Foundation even knows we're together. For all I know, you're nothing more than disposable to the rebels." Luka looked down and untied Carter's hands before sliding down the side of the wall to sit and stew.

"Luka," Carter softened his voice as he watched Luka take in this information and complete the puzzle. "Jules never had a wife and kids. There were no murders. It's all a scam to get you to trip up." He looked for a sign from Luka that he understood. "I think they were willing to play this out to the end. I saw a movie about this once…"

His hands over his face, physically and mentally exhausted, Luka surrendered. He felt like he had deceived Carter, deceived himself - and Joseph. And he felt like a fool, chewed up and spit out. "It's called the Stockholm Syndrome where a captive identifies with his captor, even sympathizes with him. I was so stupid."

"It's not your fault, Luka. You were playing the game. It just wasn't _our _game."

"I slipped. I let him get to me," Luka confessed, "and I mentioned Joseph and Toomay."

Carter, too, slinked into his own ball of hurting, soiled, beaten down flesh. For the first time he was truly scared, wondering if he could endure one more day of torture, wondering if Luka would be spared. His heart raced as his breathing became shorter, his exhaled breaths trembling with his trapped feelings of fear.

The silence between them was no longer a palpable realm of uneasiness. They sat together, yet apart. Soothing their own physical wounds. Contemplating their own fate. They had spent the last few days exchanging nothing more than passing words. They knew what they had gotten into; they knew it was a situation that could have been avoided had it not been for their own sense of immortality. They each silently blamed themselves.

Luka was the older and certainly more experienced physician, especially in a setting like this – or close to it. He could not help but think about the hassle he gave Carter about the Vancomycin, the arm-twisting he did with Joseph and Sean, all for the little girl. He had hoped that he would be able to keep Carter and the others safe but his secrecy alone had tipped Carter off and because of this, they were both possibly going to die. Was all this to overcompensate for his feelings of falling short in his personal life?

Once again, Carter was kicking himself for being bull headed. He played out the scenario in his head again and again. If it weren't for his impulsiveness and his need to get under Luka's skin, they wouldn't be in the position they were in at the moment. He wouldn't listen to Luka. He did not think rationally about what he was suggesting and Luka took it upon himself to get the Vancomycin. Carters are good at self-blame, and John Truman Carter, MD was the best. The last time he felt this miserable, this scared was about three years before. It was dark in that room, even the blinds were closed. The darkness mimicked the diffuse moonlight on this night in the hut.

"I could smell him." Carter sat, his nose crinkling, eyes closed, head down, breathing heavy, thinking aloud as he spoke with his head slunk between his knees. Curled almost into a sitting fetal position, he was in a zone outside of himself.

Luka was at the other end of the hut lying on the palm leaves, eyes closed, trying to get some sleep. "They are pungent, aren't they? We're getting kind of ripe too, you know."

Carter didn't even hear Luka. The tape was playing in his head without the benefit of a pause button. "He put his hand on me here," he put his left hand over his right shoulder. "He pulled me into him. His hand was trembling but… very strong, and…"

By now, Luka was catching on and crawled his way over to Carter. He sat in front of him, head tilted looking up into his face. "Who, Carter?"

"…I could _smell_ him." His eyes stared down past Luka's face, blankly at the bare floor. "I was reading one of Yosh's valentines and it… and it… happened all at once."

"Who?" Luka superimposed his question on Carter's oration, but Carter, eyes now tightly closed, darting back and forth behind the lids, was still in his own space as he spoke of the stabbing for the very first time.

"He had a B-O thing going when I first examined him, and when Lucy did the LP my face was so close…..," He grimaced at the rude recollection of the stink. "That's the only way I knew it was him."

"Who?" Luka wanted Carter to acknowledge the attacker as he slumped down to get closer to his face fearful that Carter would speak more and more in whispers as the memory became more haunting and vivid.

**"Who?" **

The thud of the bass from the music they were playing at the admit desk that night was coursing through his ears. The church-like organ almost misplaced within the violence of the words.

_(Lyrics to a few lines of Battlflag, Lo-Fidelity All Stars previously properly attributed, deleted as per new regulations by site administrators 5/3/05. The complete original text of Pocket Change can be found at LUKAFIC)_

Carter's eyelids shot open, his eyeballs already pre-focused on Luka's face. "Sobriki." Carter said it through his tight jaw, with a slight stutter on the "S". "Sobriki." He said it again, this time with no hesitation. Luka gave him the floor, let him speak without direction. "It was a matter of seconds, just seconds. The first was like… like a hard punch but I didn't even feel the pain until he took the knife out." He reached up to wipe the spittle from his mouth that had escaped. "Then he did it again." His voice rose in uneven anger. "The pain this time was far worse than the first. I was frozen, like I was going in slow motion and he wasn't. When he took it out I could feel the blade shaking just a little – inside of me." He swallowed hard – an agonizing memory just now discovered.

Carter was afraid that if he moved, if he stopped looking at Luka, that he would never finish. "I fell, didn't even know if he was still there. The blood was warm and sticky." He looked at his hands, turning them over, fiercely wiping the non-existent blood from them. "I've had my hands in blood before, lots of it. But this was so different."

_(Lyrics to a few lines of Battlflag, Lo-Fidelity All Stars previously properly attributed, deleted as per new regulations by site administrators 5/3/05. The complete original text of Pocket Change can be found at LUKAFIC)_

He cleared his throat and looked to the left as though someone were there. Stuttering at first, he continued. "And … there… she was. Lucy was **_right there."_** He pointed to the other side of the hut. Luka was so taken by Carter's unannounced confession that he, too, looked over at the empty corner. "She was conscious and trying to talk. I couldn't get to her. I wanted to, Luka, but my body wouldn't move. The floor was **_so _**cold." Carter's voice was quivering with frustration. His eyes were desperate for answers as he looked up at Luka who was still squatting in front of him. "My hands were slipping on the tile – _the damn blood_…," he wiped the fictitious blood on his chest, grabbing his shirt at his heart. "I couldn't get to her." He was almost begging Luka for answers. "I couldn't. She was right there. And it got gray, then black. I thought I was going to die."

Luka sat down beside his friend and finally felt the need to add his thoughts. "I was worried that you would die as well."

Finally, Carter was speaking of this horrible night. He knew Luka was on that night, but the thought that he was involved in his treatment hadn't crossed him before. He nodded nervously, acknowledging Luka's part that day.

"Kerry found you, we ran to her when we heard her scream." This time Luka was the one scratching his head, trying to put words to the scene. "When I got there, Kerry was with Lucy. You were so pale. The blood was pooled under you. We split up the nurses, residents and students. Chen and Abby helped me with you."

Carter was glad that he had no more to add.

"Your GCS was low, very low. So was your crit. The bleeding was heavy and when I saw that you produced more blood than urine from your foley I knew that the renal lac was potentially fatal. That on top of the already large blood loss was pretty bad."

Carter was overwhelmed with the amount and variety of emotions he was feeling. Anger, fear, sadness and comfort in knowing his colleagues did their best. But mostly fear. "This is getting… I can't talk about this anymore."

Luka knew what it was like to hold back, and he was glad that Carter could relieve himself of the burden. "That's okay. I understand." He looked at Carter's eyes as his friend exhaled a world of emotions.

There was a different atmosphere in the hut that night, and the sound of fresh gunfire in the distance did nothing to help as the doctors continued their routine of intermittent sleep, pacing and silently checking on one another. But for the first time, they were left alone.


	11. Understanding Agreements

**POCKET CHANGE  
by Sharon R.**

_**Chapter Eleven  
**__**Understanding Agreements**_

The sound of gunfire rang out in the distance all night, and not just the random shots that had previously earmarked their lonely nights in captivity. It was louder, more frequent and most importantly, closer. There seemed to be more activity around them as well. Feet scurried in and out of camp. At times, frantic voices carried into the hut as Carter and Luka were almost forgotten among the chaos. They were kept awake that night, not by the sick mentality of the rebels wanting to deprive them of sleep, but by the commotion and disorder closing in around them.

For the very first time since their arrival, they heard the distant sound of a truck making its way over the ruts of the makeshift road - the engine and gears lugging away, tires burning rubber as it came closer, stopping and then moving on. Although the two had spent the better part of an evening at their respective "beds" in opposite corners, this new development turned their heads towards each other as they each gathered that things were about to change.

They were depleted, emotionally. No more were they bickering with each other. Becoming close buddies, discussing football games on Mondays at the water cooler would never happen. That was okay. But they had spent so much time with each other, and shared so many of their thoughts, whether intentional or not, that they had become adept at reading each other. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was an instrument of survival. With the silence of this night, they knew exactly the foreboding the other was feeling as well as the sensation and discomfort of the familiar, yet unwelcome arms of fear wrapped around them.

"What do you suppose that is all about?" Dawn was about an hour away and Carter, very sore and in the early stages of dehydration and starvation, contemplated his fate that day. He had assumed that the Foundation was negotiating a release, and that Luka might not be included. The rebels could just as easily kill him or keep him around for his skills as a doctor. It all depended, Carter thought, on Luka's ability to appease them and stay in their good graces. But in order for that to happen, the secret illusion of the eventuality of escape had to be maintained between them, and Carter was determined to keep that hope alive for Luka.

"Well, could mean anything. But by the sounds of the fighting out there, I would guess that they are getting ready to move out." An interesting but realistic assumption by Luka, except for the fact that he truly believed that he would never be leaving the jungles, at least not alive. Carter would be ransomed. He was more sure of that than of the possibility of his own release. Keeping that hope in front of Carter was Luka's way of getting through the day.

The two stood by the tiny portal they considered their only window, taking turns looking out at the action taking place in the pre dawn hours. With their faces pressed up against the boards it was hard to miss the exhaust from the truck lingering in the air with the heavy dew. Carter thought it gave him a bizarre sense of home, except this wasn't mass transit. He was determined to get Luka out alive as he, himself, was sure that his own release was imminent with the wiring of funds from the states. "I don't think we can wait any longer. They didn't seem to give us much thought last night." He looked at Luka's face as he spoke quietly. "All we would need to do is get one guy to open that door. Drug him, take his gun, get out…"

Luka was less than enthusiastic about the plan, but didn't want to shake Carter's optimism, sanguinity he needed to give himself hope. With the sound of rebels battling in the distance, they wouldn't get far. He could tell from his past experience as a soldier in Croatia that it had gone beyond small arms fire. The big guns had moved in - rocket propelled grenades, land mines and other tools of destruction. "You're right. Something's going to happen here, but I'm not all that sure about taking you with me, Carter. You're not well, and besides, if they really know who you are and are negotiating a release, you could essentially walk out of here."

"Maybe." Carter slid down the wall to give his sore back a break. "But if we wait much longer, all the money from the Carter Foundation won't prevent us from getting caught in the cross fire when the other factions close in on the camp. If I remember correctly, there aren't just two sides to this thing, and they **all **hate each other."

"I guess we have to choose our poison." Luka was not comfortable being the facilitator of the escape plan, especially having to balance Jules' ego and Carter's welfare.

"It's a good thing you didn't kill that little kid with the ear infection," Carter mumbled as he tried to catch a little morning shut eye.

Carter laughed but Luka didn't. "Well, actually," Luka cleared his throat, "the kid's sclera and membranes were icteric. I just didn't…"

"Oh, great." Carter let out a nervous chuckle as he chalked this whole chapter up to Murphy's Law. "Let's hope his jaundice is a temporary thing."

"Yeah, well, it's not like we had anything we could give him. Better to let the idiot leave thinking we've cured his kid than to just give him more bad news on top of that shiner you gave him." Luka let out his own exasperated sigh and lay down on the floor watching the bits and pieces of young morning sunlight sneak through the cracks in the walls and fall on the floor and boards of the hut like a fine piece of modern stained glass, the mold growing on the wood acting as a substitute for the leading.

"So Jules got his rocks off watching us play WWF yesterday." Carter wondered how that scene would affect their plan. "He's convinced that we are at each other's throats, and that you think I've caved, giving him information. What are you going to do now?'

"You think I should give him the satisfaction he wants? This is no game anymore, Carter."

"But, if you can just give him another day or two, we'll have time. They're not going to do much more to me. They're not stupid. Money is the only thing keeping them going."

"I can't, Carter." Luka's anger was building. "That animal is using us."

"No, he's using _you_. And if you turn on him I would bet he would get angry enough to kill you on the spot just to teach his men, and maybe me, a lesson. Remember, he doesn't know that you know the truth, that all he has been telling you is a farce."

"But the more we keep up this charade, the more they'll keep dragging you off and beating you. It has to stop. It's getting us no where." Luka stormed over to the door and banged on it. "Hey," he shouted, "I want to see Jules, now. **JULES!**"

"Jesus, Luka. For once, can't you just save _yourself?_" Carter knew it was worthless to try to talk Luka out of anything. He sat with his head propped on his hand waiting for the inevitable.

Luka continued pounding on the door shouting at the top of his lungs for Jules. With the limited French Carter had, he knew enough to translate the obscene words Luka was throwing out as poignant insults aimed at getting attention. Eventually he got what he wanted as the door flew open and Luka was pushed back onto the floor, an old rifle thrust in his face. This did nothing to deter him as he grabbed hold of the barrel and used it to push the rebel holding it back into the wall with a thunderous crash. The rebels may not have understood what Luka was asking for, but they did hear their leader's name barked again and again.

Not wanting anything to do with Luka's new dose of rage, Carter sat motionless shaking his head. "You're just making it worse," he mumbled.

Beyond either of their expectations Jules suddenly materialized in the doorway, making an appearance where he had thus far taken extra steps to remain detached from the squalor Carter and Luka called home. Carter hadn't seen him since the day they were taken hostage, but there was no mistaking the man who stood out not only from the filth, stench and grime of the two of them, but also the other rebels who were noticeably living a class or two below their leader. His clothes were neat and clean, maybe even pressed. His khaki shirt was tucked into the belt-hiked pants with the stealth of nobility. Cuffs buttoned, brass buttons shined, and even an unused handkerchief folded and tucked into his breast pocket, he exuded the confidence and cockiness his immature underlings would never grasp, and he got off on just that notion.

Entering the hut, his men stepped aside giving him the girth of space afforded leaders, royalty, or in Jules' case, feared murderous torturing dictators. His nose twisted and turned as the trenchant smells of the living arrangements the hostages had become accustomed to rudely hit him in the face. The smacking of his mouth alone as he worked to get a piece of food from between his teeth, put obvious fear into his men as they tweaked.

Luka was too pissed to care, walking up to his face; _into_ his face. The other rebel men stepped back perhaps in awe, perhaps in fear, of one or both men. They had probably never seen anyone challenge their powerfully loathsome leader. Even Carter rose to his feet not sure of what the confrontation would bring, but not wanting to be in a position where he would have absolutely no chance of defending himself. Luka was obviously almost a head taller than Jules giving him the edge, had this been a playground quarrel. But Jules never broke a sweat. He was cool and conceited, even laughing at Luka's brashness.

"Do you and Dr. Carter have something you want to tell me? Hmm?" His calm demeanor contradicted the mood of the group, his grin displaying his gold crowned tooth. "Perhaps you have finally come to your senses."

"**_We had an agreement_**," Luka spouted at him between his clenched teeth.

"No, Luka," he answered with the cool deportment of a corporate executive, "we had an _understanding_." He embodied the vile flavor of evil as he spoke in his even, drawn out British accent and shared condescending smiled with his soldiers. "You understood what I wanted, and I understood what you wanted." Just inches apart, he never took his eyes off Luka's. "But something we can agree on is that neither one of us got what we wanted, isn't that so, **_Carter?_**" He mocked both of the doctors as he then turned his head slowly, grinning at Carter.

Carter lost any reserve he might have had at the outset. "Here's something else for _you_ to understand. You will get **no money **from my family, my organization or anyone else if all you deliver is damaged goods. In my world, it's COD. How's that for an understanding?"

Jules looked back and forth between Luka and Carter before finally turning and walking over to Carter. "You see, my parents were good God fearing people. They believed in 'spare the rod, spoil the child'. Seems your parents spared the rod._ Hmm, Carter?_"

With that, Jules kneed Carter in the gut doubling him over in pain. As if that was not enough entertainment, he placed his foot squarely on Carter's shoulder and thrust him across the floor. Taking in the glory of his torture, Jules headed over to where Carter was recoiling, without even looking back at Luka whose protests were subdued by the rebels holding him back. Carter propped himself up on his side, one arm holding his gut, gasping to get his breath back. He didn't want to even look at Jules, but the animal was bending down looking him straight in the face, entertained by his own torture. Not wanting to waste the moment and opportunity, Carter gathered what little saliva and snot was left deep within his ravaged body and hocked it in Jules' face, landing the gob just below his eye.

Jules barely flinched taking his handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe the thick smattering from his cheek. "Well, well, well. You do have a backbone. Understand this, Dr. Carter. If I recall, nobody ever said anything about trading your sorry ass for money." He gave orders to his men who then grabbed Carter, dragging him out of the hut in quick fashion, not giving him a chance to even get to his feet.

Luka didn't have any time to say anything to Carter. He reached out to him from the grips of the men restraining him, but was too late. A confluence of words spoken in that elusive African dialect directed Carter's three guards through the doorway as they disappeared.

"You lied to me," Luka spit out with the posture of deception. "You had no wife, children."

"Ah, but I **was** raised by British missionaries." His portly, well fed gut jiggled as his self indulged humor acted as a contagion with his men who seemed to add their own forced snickers, even though they most likely couldn't comprehend one of their leader's words. "It's not my job, Dr. Kovac, to be honest and polite. You know what you have to do. I think you need some time to think about this."

"And Carter?"

Jules opened the door, but before disappearing, turned around, stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket, smacking his mouth once again trying to get that elusive piece of food out from between his teeth. He began to say something, but stopped short, shrugging his shoulders instead, closing the door matter-of-factly behind him.


	12. Picking up the Pieces

_**POCKET CHANGE  
**by Sharon R._

_**Chapter Twelve  
**__**Picking up the Pieces**_

His exit out of the hut was so rushed that Carter didn't have time to get his limp feet under him. With one man on each side and another putting the bag over his head, the squeeze through the door left Carter on the ground, his legs dragging over the thresh hold as if his already beaten and bloodied knees could protect his hungry bones from the exposed splinters and nails, and subsequent gravel. By the time he got to his feet and met up with the pace of his guides, they stopped. Stopped short of the usual meeting and beating place.

"Hello?" Carter found this change in routine to be suspicious at best. It was quiet, no voices, none of the normal sounds he had heard from behind his feed sack, except for the sound of a door slamming shut in the distance and, possibly, Luka calling out for Jules from behind the walls of that door. Strategy, Carter thought. Make Luka listen but keep him from doing anything about it. Jules had him figured out.

"Anybody for a song? How about Kumbaya? Come on, everyone knows that one," he sarcastically threw out, apathy and exhaustion taking over his senses. A breeze came as a welcome relief - Carter wished that it could stroke his head and neck through the sack as the rough burlap pushed against the contours of his face. His daily retreats had become tedious, either soaking him with rain or stinging him with the sun, but always leaving him with a physical reminder. But today, after hearing Jules laugh in his face when Carter suggested that they were saving him for ransom, he worried if he would even see an end.

Just when he thought he might be left alone for once, two men started talking to each other, and it sounded like serious business. One of those voices belonged to Jules; the other deep, gravelly voice was new. They exchanged words from a distance, Jules ending the conversation with his signature-revolting laugh. Carter turned his head in all directions trying to pick up key sounds, his heightened senses becoming like radar in his captivity. It certainly didn't prevent the creeps from beating him, but he appreciated being able to anticipate it. He didn't, however, appreciate the putrid breath of the man standing in front of him at that moment. Carter's bound hands were grabbed and attached to yet another hook or rope and, as the man stepped away, his arms were yanked above his head suddenly jolting his body and striking fear through his heart. His feet barely flat on the ground, he knew that as the day wore on and he became tired, instead of slinking to the ground in exhaustion as he had done in the past, he risked hanging by his arms, all of his 190 pounds hanging from whatever tendons and ligaments still attached his arms to his shoulders.

He got an instant flash back to Dr. Mason's Anatomy & Physiology class as an undergrad. The man wrote the book, _Mason and Spence's Anatomy and Physiology of the Human Body_. Only they studied in lab on a dead cat. Carter and his partner named the poor, stiff, dead feline _Sylvester_. Their first assignment was to skin the fermented body, keeping the skin intact around the neck so that it could be wrapped after each session as an added preservative. Sylvester's cape was too much for the 19-year-old kids as they "flew" him around the lab one day like a model airplane. That earned them two weeks as bio lab janitors. He recalled the muscles of the torso, mainly in the area of the shoulder, by name. Origins, insertions and actions, just as he had done the night before a lab practical. "Teres Minor," he whispered under his breath. "Origin is the upper 2/3 of the lateral border of the scapula. Insertion - greater tubercle of humerus. Action - laterally rotates the arm. Wish I could do that," he snickered.

The smell of the man's breath was back as Carter felt the heat of the body standing in front of him. His shirt was lifted up as unseen fingers traced the orderly scars of three years past. The vertical laparotomy scar on his abdomen going from the bottom of his sternum, down and around his naval to his pubic line. The colostomy scar and smaller ones that served as portals for the assorted drains were poked and prodded. Then the not so neat scars on his back; the ragged edges of the reminder of the six-inch blade that invaded his left side and back. He winced and took deep breaths as the scars were played with, and newer wounds violated by their polluted fingers along the way. With his hands tied above his head, he grabbed the taut rope above hoping to hide the tremors coming from his body.

Again his surroundings became silent giving him the false sense of isolation. Left to dangle in the sun he began to talk to himself unaware of who, if anyone, was there to be the listening end. Not caring, really. Having already given himself a lab practical, he found himself reverting back to a game he would play with his grandfather. One would start with a famous quotation and the other would have to identify the author. They would continue until one of them gave the wrong attribution or could not come up with a new quote.

"_We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give,"_ he mumbled to himself. "Winston Churchill - Grandpa's favorite. A good man that Churchill. But I prefer his - _Character may be manifested in the great moments, but it is made in the small on_es."

Carter smiled to himself as he continued on with his own little private game, trying to ignore the sun's vicious rays and the gnawing of the tse-tse flies.

"_Don't let school interfere with your education. - Mark Twain. Loved that." Letting his head fall backwards he pulled as far back from within his memory as he could. "Education is a progressive discovery of our own ignorance. - Will Durant, if I'm not mistaken."_

Standing tall, his arms pulled over his head, he had an epiphany. "Change in rules folks," he seemingly called out to no one. "Topic - courage."

"_A coward turns away, but a brave man's choice is danger. _Ahh… Euripides."

Swept away by the bravado of his own game of distraction, his voice became louder, fearing no one thing from behind the weave of the burlap.

"Then there's Twain again; _Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear--not absence of fear." _This one made Carter stop as he closed his eyes and took in the meaning. Mastery of fear. Hadn't gotten there yet. But he could check off the 'not absence of fear' part.

"Can't quit now, Carter, come on, come on." The heat was beginning to make him sluggish as he shook his head to awaken him. "How about… okay, this one is for all you losers out there in Rebel Land… _Youth ages, immaturity is outgrown, ignorance can be educated, and drunkenness sobered, but **STUPID** lasts forever." _He snickered as he yelled the last bit to his unseen and presumed absent torturers. "But who the hell said that? Oh… come on, Grandpa, help me out here…"

"_Aristophenes 385 B.C." _

The voice came from behind, so close to his left ear the man's breath moved the feed sac, tickling his ear lobe. Carter froze as he realized Jules had been his audience. Unseen to Jules, the captive's face turned and slid downward reflexively, part fear, part embarrassment. Slowly, Jules snaked to Carter's right side, still behind him, still within inches of him, his steady breath caressing the back of his sunburned neck from left to right.

"_Life - is pleasant. **Death **- is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome._" Jules meandered the words with vile intent as he savored his upper hand in the mental game.

"Isaac Asimov," Carter couldn't resist attributing that one not wanting in his mind to let Jules be the victor, however he did it in a meek voice as the British speaking tyrant walked away laughing aloud.

Suddenly, his hood was whipped off and in the bright sunlight and haze, he struggled to re-focus his eyes on the men in front of him. Just two that he could see. The older one, the one with the stick in his right hand and scars across his face, approached Carter and going eye to eye, he flashed a smile that gave Carter a good dental count he could carry out on one hand alone. Looking down at the man's body, Carter feared the worst… but something about it also caused him to produce an evil laugh of his own before… _thwaaaack_.

"**Aaaaaah**." Carter was ashamed that he let that one get out. If it were possible for his left hip to recoil, it would have done so with immense force. This friend of Jules' didn't appreciate being laughed at and, frankly, Carter was no longer in a humorous mood.

Luka screamed at Jules as they parted ways, kicking the door shut on the brutal leader's ass. **_"JULES! _**Hey, you son-of-a-bitch, leave him alone. Come back here! What about me, coward? Huh? Take me." He lost his patience, pacing around the hut, hitting and kicking the walls, just as angry at himself as he was the situation. The heat of the day wore on his already exhausted body when he found himself standing in the center of the small hut, hands on his hips, staring down at the floor. What was the purpose of this if a ransom wasn't being negotiated? With next to nothing he could do, his mind spun out of control with the '_what ifs' _and _'shoulda, coulda, woulda's'. _

Then from not too far off he heard the inimitable sound of Carter crying out in pain. He was right out there, almost within arm's length, but far enough that Luka could do nothing about it. In anger, he started kicking the wide leaves and banana frons about until the rigid tubing Carter had heisted from the medical bag made an appearance from its hiding place. Luka had forgotten about their stash and now worried that the early morning rebel crowd could have come upon it or, worse, stepped on the glass vial of diazepam. On all fours, he scurried into the corner and unearthed the supplies - the diazepam, tubing and packaged needle and syringe - holding them in his hand and relishing what he knew now would be their only chance of survival. A chance that he had previously guffawed under his breath as Carter naively made plans aloud. He placed them all back under the furthest pile of leaves, out of the path of foot traffic for safety.

Luka found himself on his knees, hunkered back on his heels, amused at his pious posture but with absolutely no desire to pray to the God that had let him down so much. His conflicting grin flashed at his own lap was cut short by the sound of a whip cracking over and over again. He covered is ears pushing the palms of his hands harder and harder against his head, burying the sounds of the whip into the pain he was causing himself. He squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could hoping, trying to close down all of his senses.

After the initial thunk to his side, he was left to hang in the ever intensifying blistering sun, the two rebels circling him like vultures admiring their work. The younger one lit a hand rolled cigarette then put it in the other's mouth where it stayed propped in place of an absent tooth. After their smoke they took their places in the viewing gallery, sitting on a log downing healthy portions of rice, fish and sweet potatoes with their hands. Must be their mandated break period, Carter thought.

Eventually they got up and rummaged around in a large bag, pulling out a whip, one which Carter assumed he had had a previous engagement with. They practiced to the side, cracking it over and over again, almost as though that was their plan. Eventually the whip did makes its way to Carter, only the toothless tyrant wasn't the one at the helm. Instead he gave the young one lessons, as Carter's back took six lashes, his skin burning then cracking and peeling apart as each one became stronger and more lethal. When Carter remained rigid, refusing to buckle at the knees, the young one took it personally, walking behind him and bashing him once behind his thighs with the tree limb. His body fell straight down like a heavy anchor eventually reaching its ocean bottom, tethered only by his arms.

Carter lost track of time but did know that he was given water only once as his head was pulled backwards by the hair and the warm filthy water was poured into his mouth, half wasted as he choked and was forced to spit it up. How he yearned for the wet season in the Congo to make a return. He no longer had the strength to stay on his feet, and his shoulders had long ago become nothing more than hangers for his sunburned skin and useless muscles. He was left alone for long periods, the rebels returning only for brief periods, not to check on his welfare, but to slap him across the face or kick his back side and generally admire their handy work and laugh.

Luka was left completely alone all day for the first time since their capture. His pleas to talk to Jules were ignored, the door only opened ajar twice to toss in food scraps and water. The meals were mostly unidentifiable - rice and maybe chopped up sardines on a banana leaf, his hands his utensils. He only drank what water he needed to survive at a basic level, but even that left only a small amount for Carter. It had become very quiet around camp until after dusk when the creatures came out, both two and four legged. His day of solitude ended when the sound of a single, loud gunshot nervously brought him to his feet. A few moments later the rebels banged on the door of the hut and Luka scrambled to put his hood over his head and sit at the far end as they had become so adept at doing, like cheap circus animals.

Eventually after dusk, the ropes strapping Carter's arms up high were cut away and his lifeless body fell without mercy to the dusty and hard ground face first, forcing him to take in a mouthful of the muck. He tried getting to his feet, but his arms had become worthless dead weight. Rolling on his side like an injured dog waiting to be put out of his misery, two men approached and looked down on him. One took his rifle, cocked it and shot it into the air giving the rebels in attendance a great laugh as Carter curled up and placed his hands over his ears.

The door flew open as a battered and bloodied Carter was pitched inside. Not letting his captors get the final word, he pulled his arm out from under the dead weight of his exhausted body and instinctively grabbed the leg of one of the rebels. With all his might, he pulled the man's legs out from under him crashing him with a thud to the ground, his rebel comrades laughing at his expense. The last word **was **Carter's.

"**_Fuck you!"_**

It may have earned Carter one more kick in the head but the humiliation the vile animal suffered was well worth it.

Once they heard the door shut and the bolt thrown, Luka took off his hood and went to Carter's side, pulling him up to sit against the back wall of the hut. "I should have warned you. _Fuck you _is kind of universally understood." He looked like hell. His skin had obviously been exposed to the sun all day and the swelling around his face from the previous beatings was at its peak. But this time Carter was holding his gut. He was dazed from the blow to the head, not quite lucid at first, and his eyes were glassy.

"They concentrate on your abdomen today? Carter? Hey…" Luka was concerned about internal injuries as he lifted what was left of Carter's shirt to palpate his mid section, exposing the scars left from the years old post stabbing surgery. "I heard a gunshot. Have you been shot?" There were bruises of all stages of healing from his collarbones down to his waist and he had taken some lashes to his back again as well.

"Nah – They gave me a couple good whacks." Carter was wincing as Luka examined him. "They got a new guy today. A righty. This guy took off my feed sack. I think he wants me to see the pleasure he gets out of it."

Luka noticed that Carter's eyes were sunken and he had a fever. "Open your mouth, Carter." His mucous membranes were dry and he had no elasticity to his skin. "How much did they give you to drink? Hmm?"

"The funny thing is," Carter was drowsy, and almost forced himself to talk, "he only has one arm. His left arm is gone!" Hearing Carter giggle to himself gave Luka the impression that he was either becoming unstable, or perhaps, stronger and resigned to his fate. The fact that the tormentor was right handed made Luka instinctively check Carter's left side where he found lots of up and coming bruises, as he guessed there would be. Carter pulled back when Luka pressed on his ribs. "I think I'll call him, _ouch!_... Romano."

Luka gave him a small cup of drinking water, noticing there was not much left in the hut. "You have to drink this. Come on." Carter's raw, cracked lips made it painful to drink. "Romano?" Even Luka couldn't resist the humor in this. The cold water he put on the open wounds on his back was yet the second round of pain for the day. "Carter, have you urinated today?"

"Romano. Like it?" He suddenly felt nauseas and scrambled to his left to vomit into the piss bucket left by the door. On all fours, he fell mercilessly on his face, unable to support his upper body, his arms a hindrance. The water came up, and then dry heaves, made worse by the acrid smell of stale urine and feces. As Luka held Carter around the chest with one arm and forehead with the other, he could feel the muscles trembling and an almost total lack of strength. Carter wiped his mouth on his shoulder as he fell backwards against the wall again, the pressure actually muffling the pain from the flogging. "It seems that Romano's thrill of choice is to string skinny white men up by the wrists in the hot sun and let them hang until their arms pop out of the sockets." He pulled his arms inward against his chest, too painful to use. The bruises and swelling on his wrists left by the lynching were duly noted by Luka. He exhaled loudly in disgust.

Luka set Carter back down where he could continue examining him. "You have to stop this, Carter. You're already dehydrated. You're going to get yourself killed. "

"Highly unlikely." His voice cracked with stress. "I'm the one with the money – no live package, no ransom."

Jules' words from the morning haunted Luka. _"Understand this, Dr. Carter. If I recall, nobody ever said anything about trading your sorry ass for money." _

He didn't know who to believe. It was obvious that Jules changed his tactics just to punish Luka. But was he keeping them alive while awaiting ransom? Or were they being used as currency to maneuver within and around the government militia? Or, as it was becoming more and more apparent, was Jules keeping them around just as entertainment, waiting for the appropriate time to dispose of them?

Luka sat back, taking in what he was witness to. "You know, Carter, a few days ago you were this emotionally beaten down, rich kid with the self esteem of a slug."

Carter's laugh was refreshing, but turned into a coughing fit. "You don't miss much, Kovac, do you?"

Luka refilled his water cup again and helped hold it to Carter's dry mouth. "But do you see now," Luka stopped to make sure he wanted to admit this to his friend, "that there's a lot of man inside there?"

This was something John Carter, MD was ill prepared to hear. He was a beaten down man in body. However, his soul had been boosted by the mere effort he had made that month to make life better for just one little girl. He was tired and spent. Luka had become his only source of hope in the hatred filled jungle he had initially seen as bright, beautiful and peaceful.

"It has taken me most of my adult life," Luka continued, "these past few years especially – to realize that when there is no longer anyone left in your life to prove yourself to, it doesn't mean that you stop reaching for what's out there." Without even turning his head, Luka pointed at the one lone window where the scant watercolors of the setting sun were peeking through. "You have no one else now to prove yourself to, Carter, except you."

Carter was looking deep inside himself stirring up years and years of emotion. "When is it done, Luka? The proving part? Because I can't keep doing this – falling and waiting to be picked up."

Luka put his hands on either side of Carter's face turning his head up to look him in the eyes. "It's done when you learn to pick yourself up. And you have picked both of us up, my friend."

"Sounds like Joseph rubbed off on you." Carter was giving in.

"Maybe, but I stopped caring a long time ago. I stopped taking extra steps. You and Joseph and the people we helped here have made me want to go back to who I used to be, with new spirit."

Carter was too weak and depleted to hold his emotions inside as he blinked a lone tear from his eye that rolled down his face over Luka's hands.

"Carter, you have more courage than I ever gave you credit for. We can do this. Tomorrow night may be the time to break away, huh?" He put the wet cloth on Carter's forehead. "They are so busy fighting away from the camp at night, I think they only leave one behind to watch us." Luka wanted to give Carter something to hold onto, some kind of hope. "All we have to do is get the guy to come in, catch him off guard and get the diazepam into him."

Luka realized that in order for this plan to even work, he had to get Carter to a state where he could get on his feet and travel. Pounding on the wall, he demanded more water. The door opened and an angry voice strived to make a point. No water; just words. He had pissed off this guy earlier in the day and now they were both paying for it.

Carter was tired and wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep for a good day or two. Luka had to give his face a few taps to keep him awake. "Come on, Carter, you have to stay awake for a while. I'm concerned about a head injury."

Carter laughed, again, this time however, he winced in pain. "I'm concerned about not crapping my pants."

"Still," Luka resigned himself, "we have to get out of here – soon."

Carter closed his eyes again, whispering, "That's why you're here, Luka. You can do it. You're strong."

He didn't feel strong. Nor was he confident that there would be a positive outcome for either of them any more. It was awkward, but Luka needed to change the subject. "So what did your father want you to be?"

"What?" Carter was puzzled and had to work hard to wake his brain up enough to even think about suburban Chicago and his father. "Not my father. My family. In the Carter family, wishes and dreams are left up to everyone else but the dreamer." Carter turned to spit the excess blood from his mouth almost aiming for the Carter family crest he imagined to be on the floor of the hut. "I was supposed to head up the family business. The Carter Foundation."

Luka tapped him on the shoulder to keep him alert. "What's that about?" he asked.

"It's about money, working rooms, hosting galas, the stock market. It's about nothing." The lone window cast the rays of the setting sun on the two men. Carter opened his eyes and looked up, squinting, putting the colors together as they bounced through the tree branches outside.

Luka looked at him, and then through the window where Carter's eyes were directed. "What are you looking at?"

"Your damned sunset. Don't you see it?" Add one point to Carter's scorecard.

Luka continued to wake Carter, giving him sips of the last of the water. Not enough to help. He was worried about his electrolytes, blood pressure, and blood sugar. There was an assortment of complications that could come about from dehydration, but with Carter, he was also looking for brain injury not to mention his left kidney he was not too confident in. But for now the two were sleeping. The morning usually brought water and food, depending on the personnel on duty.

He was long into a dream about Danijella standing in the balcony doorway of their tiny apartment in Croatia, a peaceful rain shower blanketing the city view well behind her. She was wearing a long, flowing, white, see-through negligee. Her soft, curly dark hair cascaded over her shoulders as she stood there waiting for her husband to come home from a two month long rotation at a rural hospital.

_He walked into the living room/bedroom and she tilted her head, smiling and laughing with a little bit of self-consciousness as she put her dainty fingertips to her lips to shade her playful giggle. The aging city lights cast a hazy brilliance around her from behind showing off her lovely curved features as shadows from behind the veil of sheer white. Gentle music played on their old tape player with the pitter-patter of the rain providing a metronome-like cadence to their foreplay. The ten or so steps it took to get to his wife were painfully slow as he put his hand out to meet hers. A gentle tear of joy rolled down her delicate cheek as she pulled him into her, nuzzling her head into his strong chest. _

(Lyrics to a few lines of Gentle Rain Sung by Diana Krall and written by Luis Bonfa and Matt Dubey previously properly attributed, deleted as per new regulations by site administrators 5/3/05. The complete original text of Pocket Change can be found at LUKAFIC)

_Her sweet, flowery perfume seemed to fill the air around them and Luka inhaled deeply, taking in the moment and stretching it as far as he could. She smelled the same every day - wisps of cinnamon, lily and lilac preceded her into a room and circled around the two of them. Her neck was as sensitive as he'd remembered. He let the back of his hand fall slowly from the back of her ear, down her neck – her shoulder – her breast. Luka then took the fabric between his fingers and slipped it over her soft shoulder giving her a subtle shiver as he kissed the tender areas up her throat to the back of her ear again. Nothing got more mileage than a kiss on Danijella's neck. She giggled and inhaled a deep sigh at the same time. He let his left hand fall to the sweet area between her legs shielded by the thin, delicate fabric. Teasing her, he barely let his fingers stroke across the hills and valleys one by one as her own hands found their way under his shirt, tickling and arousing him, deepening his breathing. _

(Lyrics to a few lines of Gentle Rain Sung by Diana Krall and written by Luis Bonfa and Matt Dubey previously properly attributed, deleted as per new regulations by site administrators 5/3/05. The complete original text of Pocket Change can be found at LUKAFIC)

_Danijella's own breath was warm on his chest, her tongue finding his nipple almost asking him to do the same. As his fingers walked the hem of the negligee above her hips the balmy air whooshed in through the doorway lifting the back of her gown exposing her bottom to his hands, the stroke of his knuckles sending a quiver of rapture through her. Luka pressed his own pelvis forward, the height difference landing his stiff and sensitive member straight into Danijella's hands that had fallen in bliss to her soft tummy. Then moans came. Deep, throaty moans as her lips trembled in anticipation. Luka guided her to the floor, enveloping the slight frame of her body in his long, hard arms. The salty taste of her skin as he encircled and dipped his tongue into her navel made him eager for more, prompting him to travel upwards, her arching back beckoning him not to stop. He cupped a breast in each hand, playfully stroking her hardened nipples eventually replacing one set of fingers with his warm, passionate lips and mouth. Her moans were deep and soulful. So completely devoted were they to their love making as they molded into one, they were not even shaken by the loud clap of…_

Thunder shook the loose boards as Luka rolled over feeling the hard floor beneath him. The dream was a nice break from captivity, but all too short. The soreness in his shoulders from sleeping in one position for so long was something he couldn't get used to. The moaning came from Carter and Luka scrambled over to check on him. Not just moaning. His eyes were open and he was talking to somebody that wasn't there.

"…and all the way out to the lake…." Carter looked straight at Luka and smiled, just a little, pointed in the other direction and continued his conversation with the phantom. "It's not as if it couldn't be done, Mark. He knows. Ask him."

His assessment of Carter was not optimistic. He was altered, his heart was racing, breathing rapid and shallow. His dehydration had become critical and what happened next is what he feared the most.


	13. Catch a Falling Star

_**POCKET CHANGE  
**by Sharon R._

_**Chapter Thirteen  
**__**Catch a Falling Star**_

His assessment of Carter was not optimistic. He was altered, his heart was racing, breathing rapid and shallow. His dehydration had become critical, and what happened next is what he feared the most.

Carter's legs and arms became rigid, then after a few moments, they started trembling violently. His eyes rolled back into his head as it jerked. He was in a full-blown seizure. Luka felt helpless as he rolled him onto his side to prevent aspiration. There was nothing in Carter's stomach to regurgitate, but a foam-tinged liquid still found its way up and protruded from between his clenched teeth. Luka frantically put his mind through the paces of the ER, but there was nothing he could do for Carter that he would normally do back home. Time slowed down as Luka watched powerlessly. There seemed no end to the seizure.

Carter's legs traveled his body sideways eventually toppling the pile of palm leaves covering the lifted medical supplies. Luka eyed the vial of diazepam – their only ticket out: the escape Luka had finally come to believe in. Grabbing the syringe package, he ripped it open, inserted the needle into the vial and, holding it up into the scant moonlight, drew out 3 cc. It would have been easier to inject it into a muscle, but absorption is poor when given IM. Not having an IV line established it would be tricky pushing the diazepam intravenously on a jerking patient. He would have to go for a big vein, one less likely to be infiltrated through to the other side. He knew that he shouldn't hold a seizing patient down, in order to prevent bone fractures. But he had to do something to get in the anticonvulsant.

Carter was on his side and Luka decided to straddle him. The neck veins were tensed and popping out. Luka got it on the first stick, drew back and got a flash. He was in. He injected the drug and quickly rolled off Carter. Within seconds the seizure stopped.

Now what? Luka questioned the differentials. Dehydration? Probably. Low blood sugar? Maybe. Low blood pressure? Probably. Head injury? Maybe. But what did it matter? There was nothing he could do. Again, he banged on the tin wall of the hut. "Get in here. We need help. Come on you bastards." He repeated his shouts and banged on the wall until his knuckles bled and his voice cracked with frustration.

Sitting in that dark hut lit by moonlight peaking through the cracks, he was absolutely useless to help his friend. The door opened and this time it was a boy dwarfed by the size of the gun slung over his shoulder. Luka screamed at him to get water, juice and salt. The language barrier was prohibitive and certainly a challenge, but Luka showed no fear at that point and the boy was obviously intimidated by his prisoner. The boy turned and ran from the hut, leaving the door wide open, the sound of the muffled nightly gunfire becoming that much sharper with the barrier gone. Squatting on the floor, his hand on Carter's shoulder, Luka looked longingly at the doorway. A brief innate need to escape fleeting through him pulled him to his feet as he tentatively took one step towards liberty. Back and forth he looked between Carter and the doorway until, finally, Carter began to seize. Again, Luka drew up the diazepam in to the syringe and injected it into Carter's neck vein, ending the seizure.

The boy had returned at that point, oblivious to the needle and syringe in Luka's hand. With another rebel and a bottle of water, he pushed Luka out of the way and tried to pour the liquid into an unconscious Carter's mouth. Luka jumped at the boy, hitting the bottle out of the boy's hand and dropping the needle and syringe.

"**_No, no. He'll choke_**."

All three were standing and when Luka caught a glimpse of the syringe and vial laying next to Carter, he pushed them with his foot under one of the burlap sacks. The new guy realized that the prisoners could see them, pointed his gun at Luka and motioned with his hands to put the sack over his head, obviously fearing the consequences should he be found to not be adhering to the orders of his own leader. Luka looked up at the ceiling rolling his eyes. Ignoring the order, he took very purposeful steps straight to the boys and made sure his nasty breath would not be lost on the moment. He screamed at them in French.

"He needs help. I can give it to him **but I need supplies**."

Their lives so used to following the orders of any person a foot or more taller than they, the two boys left and came back with a bag of bottled beverages and a box of rudimentary food supplies. Luka took out the water, cooking oil and salt, then yelled at the boys to get out. As the young boy closed the door, he quietly put his large flashlight on the floor and pushed it in Luka's direction.

From under the leaves, Luka took out the rigid tubing. He rolled Carter onto his back leaning down to listen to his breathing. There was blood on his neck from the injections, but at least he was clotting. At least his platelets were working. All was not lost.

The tubing was smaller in diameter than a normal NG tube, but it would have to do. He greased it up with the oil and inserted it into Carter's nostril, pushing until he was certain it had reached his stomach and taped the excess to Carter's face to keep it in place. Luka took the needle off the syringe and carefully put it in the previously scrapped packaging. He pulled water up into the syringe several times, rinsing the drug from it. He then made a mixture of water and salt and very slowly injected it into the tube. It was a gamble not knowing the correct ratio of salt to water, much less if his body would keep it down. But it was all he had. The first bit of water was regurgitated, but with time Carter's stomach eventually accepted it.

The syringe was small. The tube was small. So over the next couple of hours he slowly kept injecting the fluid as Carter lay in a state of post seizure deep sleep. Over time his breathing and pulse slowed from erratic to close to normal. He kept the fluid down and judging from the new stain on his pants, his body was finally processing it. Luka fell asleep sitting up against the wall next to Carter.

Night turned to day, gunfire ceased and faded into the distance as Luka awoke from his brief sleep to check on Carter and push more fluids via the makeshift NG tube. The water was almost gone, but there was enough for a few more hours. Not long after dawn's arrival, the rain started. It had been a couple days since they had had any, today's would be a welcome relief from the heat, especially for Carter as he lay in the tin roofed hut that so easily became an oven in the hot afternoon sun.

Without getting to his feet, without even much thought, Luka rolled over, inserted the syringe into the end of the NG tube and pulled back on the plunger making sure that extra air would not be forced into Carter's stomach. He then filled the syringe with the salt-water mixture, which by now had become mostly water. Inserting it into the end of the tube he pushed in the cool fluid, removed the syringe, refilled and pushed that in as well. Folding over the end of the tube on itself and taping it back to Carter's face, Luka wished that there was more he could do. He did a cursory exam. Mucous membranes were much improved. He had urinated and was even beginning to produce saliva. With his fist, Luka rubbed vigorously on Carter's breastbone to check for his response. His legs and arms bent inward and he groaned. As the rains crashed down on the tin roof in a sudden downpour Carter's eyes flew open.

He groaned and aggressively cleared his throat trying to rid it of the foreign intruder. Shaking his head from side to side his still fuzzy mind prevented him from reaching out to Luka, instead pushing him away as Luka attempted to keep his hands from his face.

"Carter, Carter…. You're sick, _Carter_." Luka held Carter's chest down pinning him to the floor. He looked him straight in the eyes. "Just lie still. You've been very sick."

Carter looked up at Luka, then around the hut as though to reorient himself to his surroundings. He reflexively tried to sit up but found his muscles racked in pain and of no use.

"Ahhhhhhh, _Jesus!_ I hurt all over." His voice was horse and nasal from the tube. Reaching up he found the tape holding the tube to his face. Puzzled by its presence he tried to take it off before Luka pushed his hand away.

"I had to use the tubing… kind of like an NG tube." Luka took a moment to scan Carter's face to make sure he was lucid enough to understand, and then spoke in a more hushed voice, as he would with a patient. "You had a seizure. Two, actually."

"Grand or Petite Mall?"

"Grand. The clonic phase the first time around was quite long."

Carter reached up again, this time gently checking out Luka's handy work. "Is this the tubing I took from the bag?"

"Yeah. Can you swallow on your own?" Luka picked up the last bottle of water and held it to Carter's mouth, helping him to take a swig. "Okay. Let's get that tube out." Luka took the tape off and steadily pulled on the tube. The feeling of his insides being yanked through his nose was not pleasant as Carter winced and gagged.

He just laid there unable to move much, his arms rendered useless by the previous day's hanging, his other muscles sore from the dehydration and seizure. "Quite resourceful, aren't you, McGuyver?"

Luka smiled but reserved his feelings of relief, hesitant to give Carter his full treatment history.

"I feel kind of loopy." He swallowed hard, glad to get that tube out of there.

They were silent as Carter adjusted to his body on the mend. His well-trained medical knowledge kicked in, as well as his previous experience as a narcotics abuser, and the two looked at each other knowingly. "You used the diazepam, didn't you?"

Luka nodded, knowing that the diazepam that could have seen both of them to freedom had to be used to keep Carter alive, in the hut, in captivity. "I'm sorry. I had no choice. You were getting cyanotic."

"It's okay, Luka." To Carter it was more than using the stash, or even injecting him with a controlled substance. "Thank you, again. I guess it's getting to be a habit."

They spent the day alone. Nobody came by except the boy who threw in an occasional banana or bottle of water. When the rain stopped and voices were silent outside, they heard fighting in the far off for the first time in daylight. Luka kept a close eye on Carter as they traded few words, reluctant to get each other's hopes up or dash what little there was left.

Luka helped Carter sit up between two beams. He seemed relaxed.

"Are you afraid?" Luka asked.

"Nah, not anymore," Carter mumbled, "it's useless. Why waste my time."

"Yeah, I guess so." Luka sat down next to him as they listened to the rain start up again, and the guns come closer.

Several times they heard men's voices in deep conversation as they walked by the hut. Finally Luka caught a glimpse of Jules. He was outside his comfort zone, congregating with the other rebels, in his hand a satellite phone. More than once Luka spied him talking on the phone, sometimes angry, other times quite pleasant. But never without a sneer.

The last contact they had with the rebels that day was a woman. Luka's manners had not been lost as he stood for the lady. Entering with a large man, she handed each doctor a bottle of water and a large banana leaf with rice and chopped fish.

"Thank you," they both shared quietly with her.

As they were leaving, she abruptly stopped and exchanged a few words with the man - an argument it seemed, although the rough looking rebel didn't appear to have the upper hand. He took off his t-shirt and reluctantly handed it to her. She walked over to Carter and, unlike the men in camp, looked him straight in the eyes and smiled as she gave him the shirt.

After the door was locked Luka helped Carter eagerly change into the oversized, but in-tact shirt. "What do you know," he marveled, "they have Old Navy in Africa too." He realized, though, that the shirt probably was not bought.

Another night in the filthy hut. Carter's arms and shoulders seared with pain, his head hurt, ribs hurt, back hurt. Hell, his whole being was in agony. He couldn't sleep well and spent much of the night sitting against the back wall looking out of the window at the night sky. The moon was full, or close to it. He could see stars, feel the breeze as it made its way through the cracks in the boards. How he wished he were home, in Abby's arms. Closing his eyes he tried to imagine being in bed next to her, nuzzling his nose into the back of her neck - spooning. He tried but he couldn't remember how her hair smelled. Draping his arm over her side he could pull her closer into his taller frame and kiss her ear lobe just to hear her giggle. He could even hear that haunting song, the words were there but just out of reach.

_(Lyrics to a few lines of Let Me Fallsung by JoshGroban and written by James Corcoran and Jutras Benoit previously properly attributed, deleted as per new regulations by site administrators 5/3/05. The complete original text of Pocket Change can be found at LUKAFIC)_

He threatened once to break that CD. They were in the jeep, on their way back to work and just as the day before, Abby pushed the disc into the dash player, pressing the selection button up to number 8. Carter rolled his eyes and mockingly fought with her to keep from hearing that song again and again.

_(Lyrics deleted)_

But this night as Carter watched Luka sleep on the hard dirt floor, that song resonated in his head and was a comforting memory. The soft strains of the guitar, the words - he finally got what Abby saw in it.

_(Lyrics deleted)_

Why **was **he there? Luka ran away from his life. Was Carter far behind? Or had he passed Luka up? Did it even matter? Carter was sure that the chance of them getting out alive was slim. Romano, torturer of the day, had taken the sack off Carter's head. He had seen not only his tormentor, but also the men helping him. He recognized the very young man, boy, dressed in a government militia uniform who took his cell phone from him on that first day. That's how they knew who he was. All of his numbers were stored by name on the cell.

His stupidity, his naiveté was what got them there. But that little girl back at the clinic haunted him as much as that song. There was a good chance that Joseph made it back with the Vancomycin that she deserved.

_(Lyrics deleted)_

Abby was history. They left on terms not exactly positive. A mutual agreement, perhaps, but no less a failure. What was left for him back in Chicago was nothing more than bricks and mortar. A huge house, a bank account, a job. Nothing much worthy, at least not anymore. The question at this point in his head was, did he really care whether or not he even got back home? Either way, he was a different person now and regardless of his fate he would fight back with dignity.

The time he spent with Luka was - well - not altogether unpleasant. How many years had he known Luka? And how many times had he sat down with him and talked about who each other really was? He knew more about the nurses - Chuny, Malik, Haleh, Yosh, Lydia - than he did his colleague, the man who had been Abby's previous lover. Yet on this trip, this adventure, they shared stories and feelings, though not always over morning coffee and the financial section of the paper.

_(Lyrics deleted)_

He slept in stages, when he could find a way to get comfortable, something that was near impossible. He leaned back placing his head conveniently between two strips of wood framing and nodded off with thoughts of Abby, the little girl, home…

Luka rolled over to see Carter asleep, sitting up, and quietly made his way over to the other side of the hut to check on him. His breathing was fine, no fever. They were over that particular hump. Getting up and walking over to the little window they had, he could see the sky clearing and stars make an appearance. The cool night breeze pierced through the cracks in the boards refreshing him. A shooting star caught his eye above the trees, but the childhood magic that briefly touched his heart was shattered by the gunfire that took its place in the distance.

He wavered between feelings of guilt and surrender. His need to keep everyone else at arm's length while he did things his way drove him to keep Carter out of the loop about the Vancomycin. He roped Joseph and Sean into making a big production out of the transport of the drug. He risked all of their lives, including Joseph's family, yet blamed Carter. He risked the program's very existence. But was their capture inevitable? It seemed as though the safety net of the clinic had begun to collapse before their capture.

Luka took the blame and pounded it into himself with a mighty fury, sure that they would see their last days inside those filthy four walls. Carter was unusually calm and collected. Had he accepted his fate?

_(Lyrics deleted)_

They both drifted in and out of sleep as the lonely night became dawn once again. The usual morning voices were absent, the voices of nature, instead, taking their place. They had had enough water, bananas and stale unleavened bread through the night to make living bearable. No nighttime roustings. Even the piss bucket had been emptied. But when the camp remained quiet well into the morning, Luka and Carter became worried.

As the sounds of the critters suddenly stopped, they heard the roar of a truck engine as it made its way up the rutty jungle hill roads spinning its tires and revving the engine. It came closer and closer until Luka saw it appear from the curtain of foliage. The Toyota pick-up truck was loaded to the brim with armed men like bean sprouts. The truck stopped short of the hut, the men spilling out. Among them was Jules and an evil looking one-armed man. Four men barged into the hut, tackling Carter and Luka, binding their hands behind them. Instead of the burlap bags, this time dark blindfolds were tied around their heads.


	14. I Will Dance So Freely

_**POCKET CHANGE  
**by Sharon R._

_**Chapter Fourteen  
**__**I Will Dance So Freely**_

Four men barged into the hut, tackling Carter and Luka, binding their hands behind them. Instead of the burlap bags, this time dark blindfolds were tied around their heads. More feet shuffled in hurried fashion around them as their faces were pressed into the floor, a foot on the back of their heads. Excruciating pain seared through Carter's shoulders and arms as he was unable to stifle the guttural moan that came from his throat.

"Geez, **_get off me!_**" Carter could barely get the words out of his clenched mouth, the pressure from above reducing his lung capacity in half. To make matters worse, his outburst earned him an even tighter restraint on his hands as another rope was added near his elbows winching them so unnaturally close together behind him that the last surviving threads of his mangled ligaments tethering his arms to his body frazzled. Carter felt the edges of his shoulder blades rub together, his upper body pivoting back and forth on his sternum.

Luka fought to get the blindfold askew enough to be able to get a glimpse of his surroundings only to have it tied tighter pressing against his eyes. Carter's groans made him feel helpless as he lay on the floor just inches from him. "Hey," Luka shouted, "_hey_, he's been sick. Leave him alone." Not about to give in, Luka struggled to free himself out of instinct more than realistic expectations, but his efforts were met with stronger force and he was obliged to give in to his captors.

The movement and voices hushed as Luka's hair was grabbed from behind, his head jerked backwards jutting his throat against the floorboards.

"That's the one," a voice shouted in French. Jules.

Two pair of arms jerked Luka to his feet, the other hand never leaving his hair. He was half pushed and half pulled by the hair out the door to an awaiting Jules. Luka could smell him. Aftershave in the jungle - intriguing. He immediately thought back to Carter's description of Sobriki, of the lingering memory of the psychotic man's smell, and how it stayed with him after all these years.

"We have no more use for you." Short and simple. Jules was relishing the mental anguish he so superbly wrapped around his victims.

"Why the blindfolds today? We never had blindfolds."

"Those feed sacks are valuable to the people here. Their animals eat out of them. Putting your heads in them, especially now, would surely be a waste of a good sack." Luka could hear Jules sucking in the air between his teeth. "Good-bye, Dr. Kovac."

"You make me ill." With all his energy, Luka snorted what snot he could find in his sinuses and hocked in Jules' general direction, getting only a belly laugh of satisfaction in return.

"At least Dr. Carter spat on target. You are pathetic, and quite frankly… you smell."

It was quiet in the hut as Carter wondered where all of the people had gone. Face down, hands and arms tied behind his back, he assumed he was alone and rolled to his side getting his knees underneath him. The cold, round metal suddenly poking at the back of his neck was enough to convince him that he was not alone. A shuffle of feet and he heard Luka's body thrown back on the floor next to him. Once again, a foot found its way to the back of his head.

"Luka?"

"Yep."

"What's with the blindfolds?" Carter waited. "I only remember seeing two guys with actual blindfolds and they … they…" Neither one spoke, neither wanting to admit what they were thinking.

They continued to wait on the floor. Luka could smell the rubber soles of the boots the rebels wore and the cigarettes as they were snuffed out under them. They both looked inside themselves for answers and didn't like what they came up with.

Luka turned his head to the right facing Carter and whispered, "be proud of who you are, Carter."

"You'd benefit from taking a little of your own advice, you know," Carter whispered back.

"You okay?"

Carter waited to answer Luka, waited as he felt his mind and body - his soul - calm. "I'm okay with this."

"Yeah," Luka inhaled as he understood Carter's answer, "yeah, me too."

_(Lyrics to a few lines of Let Me Fallsung by JoshGroban and written by James Corcoran and Jutras Benoit previously properly attributed, deleted as per new regulations by site administrators 5/3/05. The complete original text of Pocket Change can be found at LUKAFIC)_

From the hut they were moved to the bed of a pick-up truck crowded with soldiers. Enduring a couple hours of jungle back roads and one down pour of rain, the two were finally off loaded - shoved off the truck like bulky cargo - and forced at gunpoint, nearly hog-tied and blind, to march through the jungle. They were led on a terrifying hike through unknown terrain, tripping on the underbrush. Sometimes helped up. Sometimes not. They were forbidden to talk and had to rely on other senses to keep them afoot. Luka strained to keep track of Carter's breathing and faint, restrained sounds he made just to assure himself they were still together. They were exhausted, unsure of their fate, yet hauntingly confident in their resolve to hold their heads high.

_(Lyrics deleted)_

The group of marchers halted twice when Carter fell ill. Sick to his stomach, Luka knew this would happen. When he begged to check on his friend, Luka was pummeled to the ground with a blow to his midsection, pushing the air out of his chest and felling him to his knees.

Over sloggy roads, through swamped areas, and finally the mangled roots of a field of mangrove trees, their captors became more and more rushed. The mangroves slowed them as the blindfolded prisoners' feet were swallowed by the contorted unearthed roots. Eventually resorting to dragging the doctors, the captors too, fell - prisoners in tow. Panic set in as the rebels talked, then shouted to each other. Out of nowhere a hail of gunfire erupted pinning the group of marchers down. The rebels quickly prepared and started to fire their weapons but found their hostages to be an encumbrance to their firefighting capabilities. Luka and Carter were tied together at the ankle, and to further guarantee that they wouldn't escape, Luka's other leg was tied to a tree.

The chaos and confusion of their forced blindness while lying unarmed and helpless in battle washed in waves over Carter and Luka as they tried in vain to coordinate their awkwardly positioned bodies to avoid the gunfire they could only hear. It was hard to ignore the whishing sound the bullets made as they sliced through the air so dangerously close to their heads occasionally striking the trees sending splinters down onto them. They could hear the return fire their captors kept up along with the commotion of feet and voices, their own racing hearts beating wildly through their tightly tied wrists not lost among the upheaval.

Eventually, they were freed from each other and the tree only to be pushed and prodded to run. Finally they were stopped as one young man reached up to lower their blindfolds to their necks.

"We run, okay?" His English was choppy, his nerves even worse. "We lose my friends. We go find them."

Spinning around to orient themselves they noticed that they had somehow become separated from the rest of the rebels and now were running for their lives with three young rebels surrounding them firing at whomever or whatever was after them. The irony of the situation occurred to each one of them, that the people who, up until then had been their torturers, were now their only hope of survival. Carter and Luka were ducking and running, following and being guided by these same men.

"You go fast, yes?" the man pleaded with Carter who was too out of breath to answer. "Please?"

The other two were well ahead of them, their English speaking captor bringing up the rear. Although the gunfire seemed to distance itself from them, one last round came very close as the rebel pushed the doctors to the ground.

"_Down, down, down!_"

Hitting the dirt road they had just crossed they looked up in time to see a bullet rip straight through the man's neck. His eyes still open and focused on Luka and Carter, he fell first to his knees before succumbing in a heap into his own puddle of blood, the final escape of air from his lungs producing a long, drawn out gurgle.

The other two rebels had gone over a ridge on the other side of the road and were now out of site leaving Luka and Carter to contemplate their own fate. Still on the ground they were within inches of the young man whose death mask stared them in the face, blood gushing from his shredded neck

"We have to get up. Get out of here." Luka announced. "Can you do it?"

"I don't think I have a choice," Carter muttered as his adrenalin working on over-time gave him the needed boost to get him to his feet, hands and arms still tied behind his back. "Which way?"

They looked around and, hearing gunfire once again, ran in the only direction they knew there would be people who knew them: over the ridge. As they plunged over the embankment, their feet immediately fell from under them as the loose soil and mud collapsed tumbling with them to the bottom. But before they could get their wits about them, several pairs of feet encircled them.

Squinting up into the fresh sun Carter barely made out the figure of a familiar man. "Uh-oh."

"What?" Luka asked.

"Romano's back."

The one armed man shouted to his men as Carter and Luka were manhandled once again, their blindfolds abruptly replaced and tied even tighter. Brought to their feet, the hike resumed as though nothing had happened. After being steered through a shallow stream and up onto a rock bed, they stood in silence for a while until, finally, a large group of people came upon them, the many feet clattering over the jumble of rocks. Carter and Luka began to pick out familiar voices, even the sound of the weighty weapons clattering against hips and shoulders. The original group from their encampment was back together again.

After a couple of hours, the swishing through the jungle growth and muted thud of feet hitting rocks and petrified wood suddenly stopped as they were forced to their knees. Through a process of elimination, they knew that they were not on a dirt path or a clearing. In fact, the hugeness of the jungle growth was all around them. Without the use of their eyes they could sense the denseness of the trees, bushes and African grasses around, below and above them. The men were pushed down, as though their faces could get any lower to the ground. Were they together? Was this the end?

_(Lyrics deleted)_

They heard voices behind them and a language not recognizable to either. When the voices were replaced by the metal clicking sounds of guns, they feared the worst, crouching lower, hanging their heads as if to bury them in the soil of the jungle. Carter started shaking – he couldn't stop. He tried to but terror took over his ability to control his body. Luka's breathing became labored as he grit his teeth in fear and anger, saliva stringing down from his mouth. Was that whimpering or someone struggling? They were no longer able to define if the very quiet sounds of fear they were making belonged to themselves or the other. They reached a moment of utter silence, then in synchronization were deafened by gun blasts and a painful crack to the head.

_(Lyrics deleted)_

By the time Carter was lucid, the ringing in his ears took over. He gagged, then shook his head to free his mouth of the dirt and bugs that had crawled in during his momentary black out. His head had a new knot somewhere now, and shaking it made the pain shoot straight through front to back. Other than the buzz in his ears, he couldn't hear anything. He wasn't deaf; there just wasn't anything to hear. No feet, no voices. Only the screech of a bird overhead and the leaves of the plant next to his head flapping in the steady breeze.

"Luka." He cleared his throat and spoke up, confident that they had been left alone.

"Luka?"

Rubbing his head on the ground he was able to move the blindfold up over his forehead, the small stones in the soil adding more scratches to the bruises and abrasions on his face. With great effort and swift courage he dug his shoulder into the earth, flipping his body onto this back. The sun poured into his eyes making it impossible to see, his dehydration drying his eyes even more. Carter managed to get his knees under him raising him up to get a better look around, at least as much as his adjusting eyes would allow, but the dense and tall foliage molding his body gave him very little to see from his position.

"**_Luka!_**"

Jutting out from the tall jungle grass, within Carter's reach, were Luka's feet. Scooting closer, Carter was relieved to see that they were still together. Lost, tired, sick and sore. But together.

"Hey Luka," Carter kicked his limp foot, "wake up. Come on."

With his eyes finally focused, Carter got a good look at Luka's legs. Then using his body to move the tall blades of grass, he was able to get to Luka's upper body. His heart sank. Carter collapsed back on his heels, then let his head fall forward. He _was_ alone.


	15. The Killing Field

**POCKET CHANGE  
by Sharon R.**

_**Chapter Fifteen  
**__**The Killing Field**_

With his eyes finally focused, Carter got a good look at Luka's legs. Then using his body to move the tall blades of grass, he was able to get to Luka's upper body. His heart sank. Carter collapsed back on his heels, his head falling forward. He **was** alone. No matter how determined he had been earlier to stay strong and focused - to end this chapter of his life, and maybe even, perhaps, to close the book - he found himself in a place that bottomed him out. _Alone_ took on a new meaning.

All along, it was Luka who was the physically stronger of the two, the one who had what it took to get the both of them out of the jungle alive. But looking at Luka, at the blood matting his dark hair and the obvious brain matter on his shoulder, Carter knew that he not only was left to die alone, but to watch his friend decay into the earth first. He fell back onto his bottom and tried to collect himself, to regroup, make a plan.

He was surrounded by thick overgrowth and towering trees whose exceedingly wide foliage veiled the tint and tenor of the sky. Roads or paths, if they existed, were well hidden from him. The earlier rain gave way to heavy humidity and equally annoying insects of which Carter was helpless to protect himself against, jolting his body to and fro hoping to escape the critters, but ultimately reacting with tic-like movements as they bit into his exposed flesh. His fingers throbbed and hands ached from the taut rope cuffing them together, his body having just recovered from extreme dehydration, threatening to fail once more.

So he sat there.

The backside of his pants was now as soaked from the wet soil as the front was from his recent illness. With no one to talk to, with no one to make useless plans with, he was relegated to sitting in his piss soaked pants, his arms tied behind his back at his elbows and wrists severely limiting his ability to move. Giving up was a rational option considering his situation, and Carter certainly qualified given his physical condition. But he was far from giving up.

He fell back hoping to find a rock to scrape against the ropes. He squirmed around, his painful shoulders protesting, raw back flinching as his skin stretched over bones, his exhausted body not lasting more than a few moments. Failing, he looked back at the motionless Luka again finding the irony in his death after it was Carter himself who had been tortured all along. Both lying motionless thousands of miles from home under the same sky but only one with a heartbeat. His hope waned as he looked up from his prone body at the enormity of the jungle he would have to traipse his way out of. A quick inventory of his emotions found him to be conflicted to the point of apathy. He was no longer a prisoner, yet unable to free himself, unable to survive alone, he was a prisoner of his own body.

So he laid there.

Even that was uncomfortable with the weight of his body pressing against his elbows, arms and hands. Carter stared up through the green shroud at the bits and pieces of the blue sky that peeked in and around the thick white clouds. Closing his eyes, he desperately searched for a peaceful memory, just one. Unlike Luka, Carter had few to pick from and envied how Luka was able to pull those beautiful memories from such a vast collection and live in it, to make the memory a sweet healing of the present. For Carter most of his searches came up flat. Nothing bad, nothing great. There was that time when Bobby pushed him out of the tree. Carter smiled as he remembered how he tried to convince his mother that he fell, just to save Bobby from punishment.

"_I fell, Mom. Bobby was nowhere near me. Really." _

_His mother held him on her lap, Carter almost too big to be there anymore. His arm hurt when he moved and he held it to his stomach. His mother held an ice bag to his arm while tucking his head into her neck. He loved her smell and never forgot it. A short while later his father walked in the door. It was the middle of the day and his father made a special trip home to check on John! _

"_How are you, little man?" _

The flies buzzed around Carter's face and invaded his sweaty skin as he closed his eyes and continued to wrap himself in the warm feeling of this memory.

"_Does it hurt much?" John looked up into his smiling father's eyes then snuggled back into the warmth of his mother. It doesn't get better than this. _

He smiled.

"_Close your eyes, little man, and think of a wonderful place." His father's big hand on his shoulder, his calm strong voice was comforting. "Someplace that makes you feel happy and safe."_

_But he didn't need to close his eyes. He was there._

_As his father rubbed John's back he leaned in above him and whispered, "We had better get moving, Eleanor. They are expecting us at the museum opening." _

He was handed off to the nanny. Gamma met them at the hospital later, but he always remembered how he was relegated to being less than equal in importance with the museum that day, yet the small bit of time in that kitchen with his mother and father holding him, his dad calling him "little man", made a lasting impression, happy and sad at the same time.

The silence of the moment was suddenly broken as Carter's eyes flew open in reaction to a sound that came from Luka's direction. A raspy sound. Probably agonal, the body's last reflex of escaping air. Carter rolled onto his side and hitched himself like an inchworm over to the body. He was still in the same position and Carter questioned if he had imagined it. But at that moment he noticed Luka's bound hands in the small of his back flinch. That alone startled him, but not when Luka did it again, this time accompanied by a distinct moan. Now what? Carter wondered what he could possibly do for someone with a gunshot wound to the head so severe that it exposed brain matter. Nothing. But should he be making sounds?

"Luka?" Carter cleared his throat and tried again. "Luka?"

Luka picked his head up and spit the accumulated grime and bugs out of his mouth, nearly retching. "What…? Aaargh… My head hurts."

He was talking?

"Luka, hold still, don't move. You, ah… you've been, ah… shot…"

Carter scanned Luka's body as he made obvious purposeful movements and spoke. Nothing he was ever aware of could happen after such a devastating injury.

"… in the head…"

"What? No - I don't think so." Luka struggled to rub the blindfold off his head in the same way Carter had. "But, _damn_, it hurts." His head was turned and, with the first look at light since the firefight at the creekbed, Luka was squinting hard trying to focus on Carter. "Can you untie my hands?"

Carter turned on his other side and scooted up higher until they were back to back and his hands met Luka's. It took some time, but he finally managed to get the fabric loosened enough that Luka could slip his hands free before collapsing to the ground. "I can't believe that you can do this, I mean…"

Luka returned the favor by freeing Carter's hands and elbows of their own restraints releasing his arms but bringing a new pain to his body as he slung his limp lower arms in front of him for the first time that day, cradling them to his body. Looking at Luka he was stunned to see that he suffered only head pain. "Luka, you have blood all over the back of your head, and…"

"I think I got hit pretty hard. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a good laceration back there."

Luka put his fingers to his head to assess the situation.

"No, I mean on the back of your shoulder, there's…," Carter had a hard time saying it but motioned to Luka's right shoulder, "… there's, um, brain matter." He raised his eyebrows at Luka almost admitting the absurdity of the possibility.

Luka turned his head and pulled on his shirt to check on Carter's claim, surprising himself with what he saw, letting out a tentative nervous laugh. "It can't be. I…"

Carter stood high on his knees to check Luka's head, finding only the laceration that Luka had expected. "There's just a lac here. It needs sutures, but that doesn't explain the, ah… you know."

Without an explanation, with the sudden change in situation, the two sat and silently mulled over their next step. They said nothing but looked at each other, daring the other to be the first to stand tall and appraise the surroundings. Luka was first, wobbly, holding his head hoping to stifle the intense pain. He held his hand out to Carter, then realized his mistake when Carter gave him a raise of the eyebrows. Walking behind him, Luka lifted him to his feet by supporting him around the chest. The tall growth of jungle appeared to recede in the distance. Looking around they saw the total lack of civilization, flowing water and roads. They took several steps to get a better view when Luka stumbled on something.

Feet.

Looking down, separating the tall grasses and leaves with his hands, Luka found where the mysterious brain matter had come from. Another man had been with them. Another man had taken a bullet to the head. The two got down on their knees again, this time to find out who had been at their side.

"**_Oh, God._**" Luka sat down, gently removing what was left of the man's blindfold. He knew even before the badly deformed face was completely exposed.

"What is it?" Carter was still at the man's legs, but squatted to look Luka in the face. Then as Luka wiped away leaves that had adhered to the blood soaked face and removed what looked like a gag from the man's mouth, he, too, realized.

"_Joseph?_"

Luka laid his aching head in his arms propped over his knees. "They had him. All along they had him."

The three men remained as such for some time: Luka sitting in shock next to Joseph's body, Carter standing in silence not knowing what to say or do.

"We should go." Carter looked for a reaction from Luka, but got nothing. "Luka, don't you think we should take advantage of the daylight before they start playing war again? There's nothing we can…"

"I can't leave him here."

Carter moved closer to Luka, squatting down to break into his personal space. "We can't take him with us," he spoke calmly, "neither one of us is up to that physically. Huh? Luka?"

Luka shot up, Carter followed as he walked frantically in circles pushing Carter away, not wanting to face reality. "I can't leave him here." Luka thread his fingers through his hair combing it back from his dirty and bloodied forehead. "I'll stay, you can send somebody back for us."

"What?" Carter followed Luka as he finally halted his pacing, staring down at Joseph. "I can't do this alone. Does it look like I'm capable of waltzing through the Congo and making it to the other side of whatever the hell this is?" Luka's gaze seemingly ignored Carter's plea for basic survival. "He's dead, Luka, and us getting out of here alive won't change that."

Carter backed off. "We're right back at the beginning," he mumbled. "You just going to ignore me?" Carter was livid now. "I don't get you. You talk all big about courage, and being proud, but when it comes to this you can't see past it? You just going to _quit?" _Luka remained unaffected by the words - plea actually._ "_This is exactly what Jules wanted, don't you see that?" With still no reaction, Carter prepared to go it alone. "Buy me a fucking clue Luka, 'cause I have no idea what's going on in your head." But he did.

Carter turned and forged through the thick growth, finding his way out over the previously trampled growth, then stumbled hard on a root. Not able to catch himself his fall echoed through his body thumping an older bruise on his hip. Getting to his feet alone was miserably hard and a few more feet down the path he realized that he would never make it alone and turned back.

Luka wavered between anger and grief and shutting Carter out was his way of channeling those feelings. He sat there unable to move, frozen in emotion but furious with himself.

"I can't do this alone." Carter had come back. "You know, I thought you were dead and I sat there too, just like you now." Carter looked up at the sky and laughed out loud. "_Why does it have to be this way?_" he shouted at the entity he had hoped was up there somewhere. "Luka, I need your help, **_please_**."

Luka finally looked up at him and Carter noticed his eyes were different. They carried a deep sadness, a helpless sadness, and Carter averted his eyes away, but in doing so, caught site of something on Joseph's bound hands. Bending down he straightened the fingers of the hand and saw the faded words on the palm written in ink:

**I MADE IT **

"Luka. It looks like Joseph wanted to let us know something."

Luka crawled over to see for himself.

Carter put his hand on Luka's shoulder hoping to get him back, hoping that he, too, would want to live again. "Don't you think Joseph would want us to try and make it too? It's not always about saving someone else." Carter turned the tables to try to get Luka to look at the bigger picture. "Sometimes that change can make the hole in your pocket open up if you forget to care about yourself."

Luka untied Joseph's hands and gently placed them at his side before helping Carter up.

"Let's go, Carter."

Luka looked back as they walked out of the field, the killing field, as he would remember it. He would go with Carter to make sure he got out alive, but didn't really care if he made it himself. He was numb, unable to care about himself anymore. "Let's just walk down hill, see where it takes us."

They walked for a couple hours, stopping occasionally to rest. Carter did his best but the nausea made an appearance again, his legs quivering as the dry heaves took him over.

"You want to keep going?" Luka asked.

"Yeah - I'm not giving up."

They found a rudimentary road - more like ruts torn through by spinning truck tires. For a lack of any other set direction to take they followed the road for a while until a noise in the trees caught their attention.

"You hear that?" Carter motioned to his right.

"Yeah. Whatever it is, it has been following us for a while."

"You thinking what I am?"

"Uh-huh." Luka glanced at Carter and tilted his head slightly.** "GO."**

Before they could get very far, a man broke out of the tree line and ran at them with a gun, raging, jabbing the end of the weapon in their direction. Putting their hands in the air, they were hit with a realization that raised the stakes. It was the same man that Carter pissed off, the one who brought the child to Luka for treatment.


	16. Shattered Innocence and Renewed Hope

**POCKET CHANGE  
by Sharon R.**

_**Chapter Sixteen  
**__**Shattered Innocence and Renewed Hope**_

Before they could get very far, a man broke out of the tree line and ran at them with a gun, raging, jabbing the end of the weapon in their direction. Putting their hands in the air, they were hit with a realization that raised the stakes. It was the same man that Carter pissed off, the one who brought the child to Luka for treatment.

"Don't shoot!" Carter quietly pleaded worried that his inability to get his hands above his shoulders would not sit well with the crazed man.

Having already endured many days, weeks even, of depravation and torture, Luka and Carter were past the intense fear of their first days in captivity. They were up to, and beyond, frustration and simple fury. Luka rolled his eyes with a '_what else?_' look as Carter stepped back. The man, on the other hand, looked nervously behind him, scoping out the perimeter while keeping the straights of his gun barrel aimed squarely at the two doctors.

"Where are the rest of them?" Carter wondered aloud to Luka.

"I think… he's alone." With bold resolve, Luka meandered slowly away from Carter and towards the man. "Let's find out."

"Oh boy," Carter murmured.

Instead of calling to his comrades for help, the man spewed words at the two, lunging forward with his gun, Luka eventually finding the muzzle pasted to his chest. No movement from the trees, no sound of vehicles charging at them. Just the three of them breathing and the disturbed jungle wildlife pacing about the trees.

Slowly, as it became evident that the man was not quite as anxious to kill them as he appeared to be, Carter and Luka let their hands fall back to their sides. Bug bites and God knows what had ravaged their skin and they found relief in being able to relegate their fingers back to their previous occupation of scratching and digging the bumps, blisters, sores and lesions that oozed pus, and rewarded the raking with a torturous burning sensation. Why this man had searched them out and held them at lone gunpoint was beyond them.

Personal revenge for Carter's assault? Fair chance. Payback for Luka electively overlooking the jaundice of the boy with the ear infection? Good chance. A mission delegated by Jules to end their lives? Very good odds.

"Do you think we should gamble a getaway?" Carter asked Luka, not taking his eyes off the rebel. "I'm pretty sure my legs still have a good sprint left in them."

"See the blood on his shirt?" With his eyes, Luka pointed out the man's chest splattered with the red substance. "Looks like he's a good shot. I don't think we'd get far."

"Is that the same guy…?" Carter squinted through the late day sun.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

And with that, the man waved out yet one more person lying in wait within the thick blanket of jungle. Peaking from under the man's arm, were round, shiny cheeks and big eyes.

"Uh-huh," Luka validated, "that's the boy."

"The family that slays together, stays together," Carter wisecracked.

The boy had a blank look on his face, almost as though what they were doing was an every day happening. Hostages, heavy artillery fire in the distance - witnessing his father assassinate a blindfolded, tied up and gagged man.

Before the two had time to reassess their situation, the rebel produced two sections of rope and turned them around. Luka tied Carter's hands behind his back - loosely. Then the boy took his turn in the Land of Make-Them-Bleed, practicing his Boy Scout knots on Luka. With the sun now at their backs, all four marched on down the road, Carter and Luka leading the way, the boy bringing up the rear.

It had been a long day. Hell, it had been a long month, give or take. The heat and lack of water did nothing to aid the two weary men on this segment of their journey. They were out in the open, the sun beating down on their necks. The sporadic gunfire in the distance eventually became steady and louder, making the gun toting man nervous. He anxiously prodded the doctors to move faster, forcing their already lame bodies and exhausted feet to do things their minds were no longer able to tell them to. Carter abruptly stopped, his legs quivering, the upper half of his body bent over at the waist.

"Carter?" Luka had to stoop his tall frame to see up into Carter's eyes that looked straight down to the ground. "What's the matter?"

"My legs. They won't go anymore."

"Cramping up? Hmm? Mine too."

Carter's knees suddenly buckled, leaving him in a heap on his now bony bottom. "I feel sick again."

"He needs water." Luka stood in front of the armed man paying no mind to the large gun between them. In return, the man stepped back and pointed furiously with his gun trying to get them moving. They both needed water. Luka was beginning to feel the effects of the dehydration that Carter had dealt with for days now.

It was the boy who walked up to the man and, without a word, took his canteen. His small body sat down next to Carter, a little hand propping Carter's chin up, the other barely getting the full canteen high enough to pour the warm water into his mouth. After Carter had swallowed, the boy innocently turned his head looking him squarely in the eyes, his diminutive hand tenderly cupping the white man's cheek. It was hard to resist those eyes and Carter managed a silent 'thank you' with a smile, which was warmly reciprocated.

Luka dissed the rebel, sitting on the other side of the boy repeating the raspberry that had encouraged a giggle on their first meeting. What a bizarre picture they created. Two men, hands tied behind their backs, dirty and unshaven, clothes worn and beaten to rags, sitting in the middle of the raw dirt road entertaining a little giggling boy. And a gun manned by a trigger-happy restless rebel just feet away.

They sat and sipped from the canteen until it was empty. Perched at the crest of a hill, they saw a bright ball of fire on the next rise - too far to hear the explosion, but close enough to want to move.

"Can you get up?" Luka asked Carter.

"Yeah, I think so." His hands were tied loose enough that they allowed him to plant his weight back on them as leverage as he carefully got to his feet, steadying himself first before moving forward.

Their trek down hill, for what they assumed was about a mile, was uneventful until their captor shooed them into the tree line just prior to a near hairpin bend in the road. Sweat had beaded on his face, dripping onto his soaked shirt and he appeared to be gathering himself. He talked to himself - almost self-motivating, or maybe praying. Either way, this sudden change gave Luka and Carter pause. As quickly as they molded into the landscape, the man aimed the gun at the two, his infuriated words pushing them back onto and down the road. Around the bend a sudden change in scenery smacked terror into them.

A roadblock.

A heavily armed roadblock with trucks, mounted artillery and men. Lots of men.

Their captor stood tall and proud using the end of his gun to shove Luka and Carter towards the group. He was loud now, throwing out words that brought the other rebel men to attention. It was obvious that the two white men were his prisoners as he pushed them and shouted, exchanging a laugh as he put his foot to Luka's ass and rammed him to the ground face first. Carter noticed that instead of multiple guns getting locked and loaded, instead of a hand-off of prisoners, the group snickered and cajoled with their captor - then simply waved them on. Somebody reached down to pull Luka to his feet, another patted the boy on the head. Then they were out of sight.

Just like that.

They continued on down the long hill, around a couple more bends until a valley came into view. A valley with houses and life. Once again the man stopped them. Not letting Carter or Luka turn around to see him, he exchanged a few words with the boy. There was a rustle in the bushes, then, other than war sounds over on the next hill, nothing.

"You want to look first?" Carter mumbled out of the corner of is mouth.

Although they felt strangely alone, they weren't. The gun was gone, the man was gone, but not the child. There he stood, almost matter of factly, those beautiful big brown eyes staring straight up at the two tall men. Carter and Luka both walked around the boy, peeking into the jungle but finding no one.

"Well," Luka surmised, "I guess we're on our own."

The boy reversed his knotting prowess on Luka, freeing him to do the same for Carter.

Carter went down on one knee and smiled at the boy holding his hands. "Hey little man." The boy forced a smile but his eyes were sad. "What do we do with you? Huh?"

"We have to call him something." Luka gently put his hand on the boy's head. "How about Michael or David."

"I think he looks more like a Jacob."

"Mbuto." His little finger poked at his own chest, his equally timid voice repeating himself. "Mbuto."

Both Carter and Luka exchanged looks of raised eyebrows as they, too, gave out their names.

"So why do you suppose he left his kid with us?" Carter asked, not taking his eyes off of Mbuto's serene face.

"My bet," Luka guessed, "is that he left him in our care on purpose. To get him out of the war zone, maybe to a refugee camp."

"So, that village," Carter speculated, "do we just walk into town?"

"I don't think we have any choice."

As the three of them took off, the boy reached up and tenderly inserted his hand into Luka's.

Their only way out was the long road winding it's way out of the hill. Carter lingered and often fell behind the other two. He did not have many words to share with the two doctors, but Mbuto made sure to keep an eye on Carter and stop Luka whenever the separation became too great. This one little boy became their source of energy and renewed hope. His innocence of youth prematurely shattered by the bloody disdain of war.

At a cross roads they met up with a family obviously from well within the jungle, fleeing the war. They blended in with the group, all with the same goal, all running from death. That one family turned into two, then dozens. They carried little and walked quickly, their blank looks on their faces telling too many tales of the hardships they had endured day in and day out. So business-like - and tragic. Luka, Carter and Mbuto simply followed the masses hoping that they would be led to safety.

When the road suddenly opened into a larger clearing, the refugees broke into a run, gun fire intensified and the whistle of larger ammunition overhead brought a new sense of urgency to the three. As the crowd separated onto each shoulder of the road, large military trucks loaded with soldiers sped by going up the hill away from the village. One after another, the exhaust spoiling the air and kicked up dirt lingering in their wake. One of those trucks made a return trip, stopping abruptly in front of Carter and Luka, several of the soldiers motioning for the two men and the child to get into the truck. The ride would be a relief, but these men carried guns as well, didn't speak English and were not pleased with these two white men with the African boy.


	17. Special Delivery, Handle with Care

**POCKET CHANGE  
by Sharon R.**

_**Chapter Seventeen  
**__**Special Delivery, Handle with Care**_

One of those trucks made a return trip, stopping abruptly in front of Carter and Luka, several of the soldiers motioning for the two men and the child to get into the truck. The ride would be a relief, but these men carried guns as well, didn't speak English and were not pleased with these two white men with the African boy who stopped the procession.

Luka was the first up and maneuvered around so he could lift up Mbuto before carefully trying to get Carter onto the truck bed, but it seemed the soldiers were concerned only with the doctors. Maybe they assumed the boy was with the fleeing families, though Carter's weak arms wrapped around him should have been a tip-off. Before Luka could coordinate Mbuto's transfer, the soldiers roughly yanked Carter up from under his arms jarting pain through his shoulders momentarily paralyzing his arms allowing Mbuto to accidentally slip from his grip.

"**_Stop!_**" Luka half jumped, half fell out of the back of the military vehicle as he scurried in and around the chaos of the exodus, pushing and pulling the masses of people getting between him and Mbuto who was the only stationary object on that road at that time. "**_Stop!_**" When he finally reached the little boy, he frantically scooped him up under his arm, turning to find the soldiers pointing guns in his face, rushing him back to the truck; this time with the boy. As the men tried to push the two onto the crowded truck, Luka halted briefly but deliberately, grabbing the barrel of the rifle closest to his face and pushing it down making a silent statement to the determined eyes behind it.

The truck reached speeds not imaginable for deteriorating roads, frequently tossing the occupants off the floor of the bed and into each other. Being that it was packed with men and guns, the close quarters provided Luka and Carter with a lot of unwanted physical contact. Mbuto grabbed the arm of whichever doctor was closest to him eventually finding his way onto Luka's lap, falling asleep against his chest. Luka instinctively put his hand over the child's ear pressing Mbuto's head against his chest to filter out the noise. The extra body heat was overshadowed by the soft comfort of the boy and Luka's own memories of fatherhood. Eventually, after a couple of hours, the truck made its way out of the jungle and onto a common roadway.

"He seems so unemotional." Carter spoke as quietly as he could without being totally unheard over the loud truck engine.

"I know. Back on the jungle road he just stood there, almost like he didn't care about what was happening around him." Luka put his large hand back over the boy's ear, hugging him even tighter.

"What do you make of that?"

"His whole life has been a war. The sound of gunfire to him is as familiar as the EL is to you." Luka smirked. "You know it's there, see it everyday, you just assume it's not going to jump the tracks and hit you."

"You think he trusts us?" Carter wondered.

"I think he knows we'll help him. I don't think he knows what trust is. Trust is unaffordable in a war zone."

Luka and Carter sat looking at each other and Mbuto, both contemplating their future and his.

"I can probably make some calls. My grandfather had a lot of connections in Washington and we could find him a good home in Chicago." Carter scratched his head and looked around. "I mean if we're really getting out of here. I just don't see…"

Luka started shaking his head as soon as Carter mentioned Washington. "No, it would take weeks of paper work just to be told no."

"Well, then we'll play our cards through the media."

"The media has better stories in the world to cover than here. No, Carter. Look around you. They aren't taking us to the Hyatt Regency." Luka marveled at how the boy could sleep amidst the racket of the truck. "The safest place for this boy is in a refugee camp."

Carter leaned his head back against the truck wall, tired and now defeated in this simple quest. "And just abandon him?"

"No. His father abandoned him. We'll get him to where he can get some medical attention and food." Luka took Mbuto's small sleeping hand in his, stroking the smooth skin then wrapping his own fingers around the little fist. "He'll be with the people and culture he understands."

Carter's overwhelmed body could no longer support him as he let it fall to the side, propping his head on a bag of garbage. "It's a hell of a thing to understand."

Twilight had set in by the time the convoy pulled into the outskirts of a town. Their truck was the only one to break rank and turn off onto a side road. Luka reached over to where Mbuto had finally curled up next to Carter, sharing his pillow, and awakened them.

"Carter, wake up. I think we're going to be stopping."

"What's it look like out there?" Carter obviously was having a hard time sitting up and remained on his back looking up at the stars. "Have we decided who our hosts are this evening?"

"I think they're government militia. They're speaking Lingala."

The trucked suddenly stopped, only the passengers in the cab exiting. A few moments later, a few armed men walked to the back of the truck with two civilians.

"You speak English, yes?" one asked.

Carter and Luka nodded trying to focus on the dark faces with the little light from the fingernail moon in the sky.

"The boy stays here. You will go on with the soldiers."

Luka unexpectedly jumped out of the truck ahead of Mbuto, catching the men off guard. Carter, still with his arms around Mbuto who had curled into the larger man's safe chest, was hesitant to let go of the boy, even if it was to put him into Luka's arms. "What is this place?"

"This is a multinational refugee camp." The woman stepped forward offering her hand to Luka as a show of good faith.

"UN sponsored?" Luka asked.

"No. There are very few of those and most have shifted to Liberia. We will take good care of the boy, I promise." The overworked woman shed a soft smile as she reached her hands up into the truck.

Refusing to relinquish the child, Carter cleared his throat and spoke up. "Mbuto. His name is Mbuto."

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence before Carter forced some backbone. "What if Mbuto stayed with us? Let us take care of his needs."

Luka drew himself away from the others outside of the truck and stepped over to Carter, looking up at him. "We talked about this," he said softly, "he needs to stay here. I don't think all these armed men are going to look lightly on two dirty, white, foreigners walking away with one of their own children."

"That's racist," Carter threw at Luka, although he meant it out of frustration more than anything.

"No, that's reality." Luka hated what he was doing, especially knowing that the boy would have a better chance at reaching his eighteenth birthday in the states. But given the nature of their situation and the chance that getting him out of the country would put Mbuto's life in further danger, it had to be done. "I'm sure this nice lady will take care of him." He extended his arms up to Carter and nodded with his face and his eyes.

Carter took one last look at Mbuto, stroking his arm as he tapped his forehead with his own - one last meeting of the eyes, then released the boy to Luka, his arms feeling vastly empty. "Take care of yourself, little man," he whispered.

Mbuto looked so small on the ground standing among all of the grown ups. The woman said a few words to him before the armed men helped Luka back into the truck. As they pulled away, Luka glanced back at Mbuto and gave him a little wave. The boy in turn looked up, his chin puckering as a lone, glistening, plump tear streaked down his cheek.

As the truck made its way back to the main road, the nighttime battles could be heard in the distance, the darkened city limits briefly lit by explosions on the mountainside. Carter and Luka no longer flinched and instead stared into the empty darkness of the night sky, the floor, the trees - anything that didn't hold meaning to them. Exhaustion and the ravage of their bodies made them want to fold into themselves. Finally, they pulled into the city, the masses of population suddenly appearing. All on the run or hiding. Once again, their truck stopped suddenly, emptying quickly leaving Carter and Luka to be the last to slowly and uncomfortably rise, but this time they were left to move at their own pace with no guns threatening their lives. Luka jumped down leaving Carter to scoot out onto his shaky legs. From the shadows of the ruins of a building several more uniformed men appeared.

A tall man approached the two. He spoke with a heavy accent. "Are you the two American doctors?"

Luka wanted to say he was Croatian for the sake of being right, but relented. "Yes, yes. I am Luka Kovac, this is John Carter."

The man extended his hand shaking both of theirs. "We have been looking for you and heard that militia troops may have found you. My name is Thomas Bongala. I am the leader of the Union of Congolese Patriots. Welcome to Bunia."

Bongala was a big dark man who wore a wide smile and neat uniform, not as tidy and pressed as Jules' but certainly more orderly than the regular soldiers'. Luka and Carter guessed he didn't get out of his office often, much less past the rear of the fighting. But in any event, he was a welcome site.

"You've been looking for us?" Carter wondered aloud, Bongala nodding in response. "Who else is involved?"

"I cannot say for security reasons, I'm sure you can understand. I can tell you that several of the bordering countries were involved in your search as well as your government."

"The Americans are here?" Luka spun around expecting to see a platoon of America's finest to round the bend.

"No, no. The Congolese government and other countries involved did not want the American military to interfere." Bongala was quite familiar with the background of this mission. Too familiar.

"Interfere?" Carter interjected with an annoyed tone. "**_Interfere?_**"

"This is not their war," he educated the doctors, "this is about **our **people." This from a military leader they were to later learn was not even a citizen of the Congo, but instead of Uganda, one of the border countries eager to get their hands on a piece of the pie. "There is a small contingent of American military off shore and we have been in contact with your CIA."

"The CIA? That's comforting," Carter uttered.

"What is important is that we found you." Proud of his accomplishments, the man was. "My own men were tracking you earlier but lost you over a ridge after a firefight."

"You were tracking us?" Luka's anger was steeping.

"You **shot **at us. _You almost killed us_." Carter, too, had fit the pieces of the puzzle together.

"I am sorry, but it is civil war here. It is not always easy to tell your friend from your enemy." The man was smooth, almost politically gracious.

"You think we might look a little different, huh?" Carter spewed. "Do you normally order your men to shoot at blind folded white men?"

"Carter, **stop**." Luka knew that this banter would be useless and potentially quite offensive to the man responsible for their safety from that point on. "Mr. Bongala, my friend here needs medical help, and we need to speak with a member of our State Department."

"Doctors, I have been instructed to take you across town. You'll ride in my truck, but you must keep your wits about you. The fighting has become intense. As for meeting with a representative of your country that will have to wait. The only foreigners here are relief workers and the occasional crazy media." They were ushered behind the building to an awaiting truck. "I believe arrangements have been made for you by your government, but you were expected to be released closer to Kinshasa, not Bunia."

They made their way through Bunia, the city seemingly collapsing around them, skirting around burning buildings and dodging factions of fighters as they darted across the roadways in between groups of refugees. For the first time since being taken captive, they were the guests in the actual cab of the truck while Bongala's men manned the truck bed and rode shot gun on the running boards. How they managed to hang on and skillfully handle their weapons as the truck weaved in and out at a wild pace was a mystery. When they finally got to their destination, a familiar face met them.

"I told you, you had a lot of lee-a-roady about ye." Sean threw his arms around the two, all three of them smiling ear to ear.

"In America we call that **'balls'**!" Carter breathed a huge sigh and laughed.

Behind Sean was a large contingent of men wearing blue hats. U.N peacekeepers. "Dr. Carter, you don't look well, my friend."

"I've been worse," Carter spoke honestly, "believe it or not."

With his arm still around Sean, Luka took him aside. "He needs proper medical care. He has had seizures from dehydration and injuries - torture. Infection must be setting in by now."

"All in good time. Right now we have to get you out of the country and that will be tricky." Sean had a glint in his eyes. "Besides I have a surprise for you."

Carter sat on the broken piece of foundation watching the travesty of the civil war as it unfolded around him. Then something caught his eye. Children with guns, some bigger than them. There were groups of them and one… one had… a doll! Child soldiers with dolls? He stood up and instinctively tried to walk over to the closest group, although his cramping legs and back made him stop a few steps away.

Luka's attention drifted from Sean as he spied Carter get to his feet. "Carter?" He and Sean approached Carter who had a haunted look on his face. "What? What's wrong?"

"Are those…?" He struggled to grasp the concept even though it stood out in front of him. "Are those kids?" One boy, looking to be about eleven, hauled a grenade launcher behind him on a makeshift wagon.

Sean's jovial mood became somber. "Children are recruited, usually by force, to fight for the cause of their people."

"Why?" Luka asked.

Sean shrugged. "They follow commands better than adults. They're more easily intimidated and," he paused to take in the moment, "they are expendable."

The idea nauseated them, children with ammunition slung around their bodies next to their backpacks.

"They shot one boy dead in the streets last week when he cried over the body of his friend."

The three of them continued to watch the action from their safer vantage point, every now and then their ears picking up the innocent laughter from the little gangs of warriors.

"Where do they get them?" A lingering suspicion stabbed Luka.

"Usually from the streets. Many of them are orphans. It's popular to go right into the refugee camps and take the kids, boys or girls, doesn't matter. They try to recruit them, if you can call it that, around age eight."

Carter and Luka exchanged frightened looks.

"There she is." Sean turned his attention away from the two. "Luka…"

"_Mbuto_." Luka and Carter said it at the same time, their eyes fixed in the direction of the camp they left him at.

"Oh shit! **_Shit!_**" Carter's heart sagged.

"Dr. Carter, Luka, there is someone here to see you."

Carter turned around to see Toomay and her children.

"Luka." Carter tried in vain to get his attention as he walked away, instead turning to Sean, pleading. "We were given a boy by one of our captors. We thought he wanted us to take him to a refugee camp. Sean, _we thought we were getting him to safety_."

Luka started out running, Sean and then Toomay on his heels, but he was unable to get far.

Sean was a shorter man and had to put his body in front of Luka's to get him to stop, preventing him from running through the gunfire. "Luka, you can't do this. We have to get you out of here. Do you understand?" Sean was adamant as his hand turned Luka's face away from the children, forcing Luka to look at him instead.

"But… but… Mbuto is…" He was drained and emotionally spent. "Oh God, we just dropped him off like _a package_." Totally worn down, he threw his head back, tears welling in his eyes.

"Luka?"

A beautiful feminine voice caught his attention. When Luka finally dropped his head and glanced to his right he thought he was seeing things at first. Ahead of him somewhere was the boy he may have just placed into the hands of evil men. And standing next to him was the wife of his best friend - his friend who was lying dead up in the mountains. Most assuredly, she and Sean did not yet know of Joseph's fate.


	18. Collateral Damage

**POCKET CHANGE  
by Sharon R.**

_**Chapter Eighteen  
**__**Collateral Damage **_

"Luka?"

A beautiful feminine voice caught his attention. When Luka finally dropped his head and glanced to his right, he thought he was seeing things at first. Ahead of him somewhere was the boy he may have just placed into the hands of evil men. And standing next to him was the wife of his best friend - his friend who was lying dead up in the mountains. Most assuredly, she and Sean did not yet know of Joseph's fate.

He stalled, frozen in time and in being, his head pivoting from the kind smiling face of a gentle deserving wife and mother to the distant child he left behind of his own accord. That empty feeling in his heart that made it so hard to breathe punctured by the staccato of the gunfire and artillery was not lost on Luka. He had been there before and believed that no one person would have to endure that feeling twice in a lifetime. Life is cruel. Unjust.

"Luka!" Toomay was relieved to see Carter and Luka alive. "I knew you would be alright. I prayed and… and… here you are!" With that, she threw her arms around him.

He put his arms around her as well looking back to see her children sitting with Carter, laughing and joking with him. Carter and Luka shared a world of memories and thoughts as they glanced through each other's eyes at that moment as they went through the motions of greeting the family. He just did not want to move forward in time, to talk about what had happened to them. To be the one to give the worst news Toomay would ever get in her life.

Sean broke up the reunion. "Come on now. We need to get moving, but we can talk at the same time. Here," Sean handed the two doctors the backpacks they had traveled to the Congo with, "we didn't have time to get everything out of the house, but we did manage to grab these."

Luka stood staring down at the backpack he had long forgotten about. Mostly toiletries, papers and a book or two, but a piece of them at least. As Sean and Toomay walked out of the street towards the shelter of the bombed out building, Luka found himself unable to move his feet, staring blankly.

"We have to tell them." Carter's voice startled Luka, but it was subdued and meant only for the two of them. As they, again, exchanged looks, Carter nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows slightly as though answering Luka's question telepathically. "I, um… I can…"

"No. I will." Luka cut him off.

"Getting you out of here is not as easy as you think." Sean guided them around the corner and down the street. "We are far from peaceful civilization. We had heard that you may be freed, but had no control over the direction we took ourselves. Almost fate that we met up, eh?"

"Why aren't you in Kinshasa?" Carter asked.

"Well, when I got the call on the satellite phone that you two had possibly been captured by unfriendlies I drove back to Joseph's house. Things were beginning to fall apart all over the country, especially in the jungle areas near the borders."

This information was new. "So you had heard from Joseph?" Carter's curiosity got to him.

"Yes, he was at the clinic and had just given the Vancomycin to the nurses. The women were evacuating the clinic and had just left with the girl and her father."

During their hustle through the streets, Luka would steal frequent looks at Toomay over his shoulder. "And…?" He was delaying the inevitable.

"And that's when soldiers broke into the house and told us to leave. Rebels were close by and we needed to get the children as far from the action as possible. We didn't have time to wait for Joseph." Sean stopped and looked ahead at a well-lit area. "That's where we need to be."

When they got to the make-shift UN compound, Sean disappeared momentarily only to return with a group of men in a military truck.

"Gentlemen, these men are from Uganda and they are here to help you. They are going to drive us to the Ugandan border, but that's as far as Toomay and the children can go." Sean picked up on the strange silence. "What? What is it?" Carter and Luka looked at each other then at Toomay. "I'll make sure she is taken care of. But we cannot leave the country and expect to meet up with Joseph again."

Again, the two doctors stood in awkward silence, their emotions dictating their hesitant mood. But it was Toomay that latched onto the moment.

"Do you know about Joseph?" Her dark hand gently tugged at his upper arm, begging for answers. "Luka?"

Luka nodded, his dark eyes giving away the apprehension. "Toomay, we didn't know until…" he looked down at his feet, across at the truck, everywhere but in her eyes. And he couldn't get the words out. It was an uncomfortable silence as Luka tried in vain to tell Toomay, his mouth moving, the words stuck.

"Evidently he was being held at the same camp as we were," Carter interjected, "and it wasn't until the last day that we found out." He looked to see that the children were out of earshot, playing at the rear of the truck, then lowered his voice even more. "I'm sorry, but, they took us out and… and we were blindfolded… and… we didn't know, Toomay…" Carter closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in hopes that it would clear his mind of those awful memories just long enough to get out what he needed. His brain just couldn't make it past those memories and this time he was the one unable to talk.

"We were taken to an isolated area in the jungle," Luka picked up the story but soon realized that Toomay had guessed the ending already, her hands to her mouth holding in the screams she so desperately wanted to let loose, "and put to our knees. I'm so sorry, Toomay, but they shot him in the head." There it was, out in the open.

Grasping Luka's shirt tightly with one hand and stifling her anguished screams with the other, Toomay fell to her knees, Luka in tow. Protecting her children for the moment by swallowing her screams, her eyes said it all.

"I don't know why they… why they killed him and not us." Luka kissed her gently on the head while trying to comfort her as she silently wailed for her stricken husband.

"I do." Carter mumbled. "Jules. Sick son-of-a-bitch."

"Jules?" Sean perked up. "Jules Akonda-Bouche is the most hated War Lord in Africa." He had been leaning against the side of the truck, his head resting on the cold metal, hiding his own grief. "If he is the one who had you, you are both lucky **and **unlucky to have survived. They must have taken Joseph when he was coming back down from the clinic. They knew all along," Sean said to himself, "they had to make an example out of someone. _Bloody hell!_"

"I'm sorry," Luka tried to comfort Toomay, "I wish I could…" He wished he could have finished that sentence. With not much fanfare, the UN peacekeepers hustled the group onto the back of the truck and took off into the darkness, Toomay alternately cradled by Luka and Sean, Carter resting his pained body while trying to keep the children, who had not been told yet of their father, calm and occupied.

The former livestock truck rambled over the roads, probably too fast for its own good, the old worn gears grinding, the wood planks that made the raised sides clattering incessantly. Although they could exchange looks, there was no use in trying to talk above the racket, not that anyone wanted to. They passed the masses of hungry and homeless as they walked in columns both into and out of Bunia. They straggled along not sure which way they should go. Simply following - following.

None of the smells was pleasant and a time came when they were no longer able to distinguish between sewage and death as they intermingled and became one in the same. In the breaks of the column of marchers, Luka could see the bodies being buried. Some victims of war, others of collateral damage. Except that collateral damage in the Congo was from the lack of anything more than bombs. Then there were the babies. Not one without a distended belly of malnutrition and worms. They had no more energy to make any sounds. They didn't smile. The moms didn't smile. And the flies… the flies were so numerous they prospered from the perch on the babies' faces to the point that they were as accepted as a benign freckle. He just could not look anymore and diverted his eyes away from babies to what was in front of him. Carter.

Luka spied a pasty and clammy skinned Carter checking his own carotid pulse. He mouthed, "You OK?" In return, Carter pointed to his chest and flitted his fingers. Experiencing some atrial flutters, Carter was beginning to lose physical ground again.

With Toomay's head on his chest, Luke reached out and tapped Sean on the arm.

"I need to get some fluids into Carter. IV fluids," Luka shouted in the direction of Sean's bent ear, "now."

"One thing at a time. He can get to his feet, that's a lot better than most folks around here. I can't promise anything before Kampala," Sean answered, "but I'll see what I can do. And I'll do my best to find that package for you… what was his name? Mbuto?"

The truck stopped and another pulled up beside it. Carter hoped that something else more comfortable would come along, but as it turned out, the truck was for Sean, Toomay and the children.

"The peacekeepers will walk you across the border and get you to a chopper. Mr. Bongala told me that there is transportation waiting for you in Kampala. Dr. Carter, will you be OK?" Sean noticed that Carter was the only one not yet out of the truck bed.

"I don't know," Carter finally admitted as the adrenalin rush waned, "I don't think I can go much further."

Pointing in the distance, Sean hoped that Carter had just a bit more stamina left in him. "Do ye think ye can get to the other side of that bridge?" With all they had been through and the years he spent outside of his native Ireland, his accent remained and almost sharpened when the seriousness of the situation called for it. Carter studied the terrain, looked back at where they came from and nodded. He'd do what he had to to get out of that hellhole.

Parting words were not needed as the gentle touches and hugs were exchanged. Luka was spirited by Toomay's stoicism for the children's sake. The two shared a brief but heavy tear as they each put a hand on the other's cheek, Luka leaning forward to drop his forehead tenderly on hers.

"I'm glad that he wasn't alone, that his friends were with him." Toomay reached out and tenderly held onto Carter's hand while still in Luka's arms.

Once again, the two doctors shared words through their eyes as they acknowledged only to each other the horror of the killing field. Had Joseph even known that the three were together? They didn't know, but kept that to themselves.

Having crossed the bridge and escorted into Uganda by the peacekeepers, Luka and Carter were whisked to a military helicopter, buckled in, and without so much as a word of welcome, dragged up into the sky and flown far from the warring factions of the Africa border wars.

"Isn't Uganda where that dictator Idi Amin lives? The one that was supposed to be a cannibal?" Carter shouted to Luka over the ruckus of the chopper.

Surprisingly one of the soldiers spoke up. "Not since 1979. He's in exile in Saudi Arabia and in failing health. Uganda is a modern, prosperous country now under Democratic rule."

Two armed soldiers took up positions at each side, the crew up front, and other than Luka and Carter, only one other person was aboard for the ride. The man - a white man - sat just behind the cock pit in the shadows, said nothing but stole looks at the doctors periodically. The hitch hiker rocked and rolled with the chopper as it was pounded by the wind and rain, seemingly unaffected. Luka and Carter raised eyebrows at each other as they hung on for what was to be the start of their long journey home.


	19. Teetering on a Limb

**POCKET CHANGE  
by Sharon R.**

_**Chapter Nineteen  
**__**Teetering on a Limb**_

The early morning chopper ride was anything but scenic as they flew in and out of low hung, gray clouds. They were buckled in but with the doors removed to allow for the mounted machine guns, the downpour of rain pelted the occupants, the closest thing to a shower they had seen in weeks - albeit a cold shower.

With Carter seated in the middle between Luka and a soldier he was at least spared the brunt of the cold wind, if not the rain. The force of the forward motion pressed his agonizingly sore back against the metal seat back, a bar poking right up against his spine. He could do nothing but sit back, hold on and hope that the weather would not be the end of their escape. The swirling air matted his wet hair and as he put his hand to his face to wipe the now wet grime away from his eyes he took inventory of his roughly bearded jaw line and sun soaked taut skin. He felt as though he had aged twenty years, but up in that chopper being tossed around in the storm, time stood still momentarily. Although he had faced fears he would have never imagined and witnessed crimes against humanity that were a way of life for that culture, he still felt connected to the people - a need fulfilled. The girl and her father, the nurses - Chibon and Agunda - Joseph's children, their priorities in life were each other and their families, something he had so missed. Even Mbuto's father. Mbuto…

Glancing to his right he noticed Luka holding on as well, trembling in the bitter wet air. But Luka just looked out the door - his own way of escaping. They left Chicago on opposite ends of a magnetic life pole. Although they were still vastly different people, they could now walk side by side. He had learned a lot about Luka while they were together. The wall was down, but Carter still felt distanced from him and wondered what, if anything, Luka had gleaned from him on their journey. He wanted to ask Luka what he was thinking but just didn't have the energy and instead leaned his head back and closed his eyes hoping to stave off the current bout of nausea as the chopper bumped and jolted above the tree tops.

His body shivering from the cold rain, Luka stared out of the side of the big open military helicopter. For a moment - just a moment - he embodied his former life in Croatia remembering the training missions he took on helicopter gun ships. The clouds dripped from above like fingers reaching all the way to the ground, only occasionally allowing the dense green from below to peek up at them. Luka's heart was heavy with a burden he had placed there himself - a burden of guilt. He had left Joseph behind to become just another dead body in the jungle to be feasted on by critters while Toomay and the children blended into the fleeing masses of left over souls. Even the bodies they had passed on the side of the road were being given burials, their corpses covered with lime. And Mbuto…

As they started their rocky descent Luka checked on Carter. Eyes closed, he was finally resting. Carter's face had been wiped free of the muck that had accumulated exposing just how pale he had become. Luka reached up to check his carotid pulse. Upon feeling Luka's hand on his neck Carter opened his eyes and sat forward a bit. He took Luka's hand and gently returned it to its owner, pausing slightly as if to give thanks.

The two were escorted out of the chopper by the soldiers and wrapped in wool blankets. They were at an old abandoned air field now used for discreet military and business travel. A few small propeller airplanes were parked in the distance, but most of what they saw was the cracked cement tarmac with weeds peeking through and a couple of abandoned buildings. No village nearby that they could see, certainly not a city. With no enclosed building to take cover in, Carter and Luka were hustled into a wide open hanger populated with even more refugees. One of the soldiers took pity on Carter, sticking close by him.

"You have a name?" Carter asked as he allowed the man to steady him at one point.

"Othiamba."

"What are these people waiting for?" Luka asked the soldier.

"Nothing. They crossed the border hoping to find a refugee camp."

"There is no camp?" Carter asked.

"No." Othiamba handed them bottles of water. "Our government has no more resources to care for them, so they shut down most of the camps. Besides, the terrain between our two countries is very dangerous. It would not be prudent to entice them to come here. I guess they are waiting for the weather to clear." But they _were _there.

Luka knew the answer but asked anyway. "To go where? What will happen to them?"

"Don't know. They come and go."

With a shrug of the shoulders the soldier escorted the doctors towards a small office area. The refugees lined the walls of the hanger on each side of Carter and Luka as they made their walk down the center. One man, a woman, then another and another approached the doctors hoping that they were the ones to get them to a camp. Surrounded by a variety of ages and sizes all asking for one thing or another, they were overwhelmed by the sheer need of these people.

"I'm sorry, Je ne comprends pas, " Carter, gently, sadly told an old woman. "I don't understand. I can't help you." His hands held by hers to her chest, he was powerless.

Somewhere in the mix came a declaration. "_Américain, ils sont américain!_"

With that they were rushed by the rest of the homeless, countryless people, at least those that were able. Pleading faces, sad eyes were all trained on the two battered and exhausted men, neither of whom in a normal situation would have looked remotely like trustful diplomats. How sad, they thought, that after being held captive and tortured for weeks these people still viewed them as being better off than they. All they could do was put a hand on a shoulder and return an equally desperate smile. Before long the two soldiers intervened, ordering the refugees back to their spots on the floor.

One woman with a distant look in her eyes caught Luka's attention. One of the few who did not rush the men, she had a small child at each side and an infant in her arms. She cradled her swaddled baby and rocked back and forth on the hard cement floor. Squatting down in front of her he asked her if he could help.

"Je suis d'un médecin. Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" He flashed his warm smile hoping to bridge the gap.

She said nothing but averted her gaze away from the far off that she had been fixed on and looked coldly into Luka's eyes. Gently, he lifted the blanket from the baby to examine it.

Carter couldn't drink the water without feeling nauseous but did manage small sips here and there. The soldiers were getting irritated at Luka for stopping their trek to the more comfortable office area and tried in vain to get Carter to continue without him.

"Just… just wait." Carter looked on as Luka gently spoke with the woman.

After placing his blanket around one of the children, Luka stood and walked back to the awaiting trio. "The baby is dead."

"Don't you think you should tell her?" Carter whispered.

With frustration and exasperation no longer fueled by guns and whips, lack of food or water, Luka threw his now empty water bottle at the wall next to him and went into the office. "She knows."

Carter was last to get moving and stood staring at that insignificant fractured family. One of the little girls laid her head on her mother's lap and gazed at Carter with the same blank expression as her mother. He let his head, weighted by his condition as well as emotion, tilt sideways as he sighed, furrowing his brow as he took in the wretchedness around him.

Inside the office they were given chairs to sit on as well as more water. Carter turned his chair and straddled it leaning over the chair back. His water by his side, he could only look at it as he rested his head atop his hands. Music would have been good, he thought. Better than the shuffling of feet, coughs and occasional child's cry from the main hanger area.

"Good morning, gentlemen. Welcome to Pakwach."

Luka and Carter both picked their heads up as they heard the first American voice since leaving Chicago. Entering the office with a satellite phone by his side was the elusive hitch hiker from the chopper.

"This isn't Kampala?" Luka puzzled.

"No, this is as far as the military choppers can go." He was clean, well slept and fed. "My name is Bob, and I'll be with you until we can get you to Germany where state department officials will meet you." He was wearing cargo pants and a casual, well worn, button down shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow. "I'm sorry the accommodations aren't any better, but considering your previous situation I would guess that creature comforts are not a priority."

"You knew we were coming?" Luka asked.

"It was a last minute scramble. We knew your release was imminent but had planned on you being delivered closer to Kinshasa. That's where our plane was waiting."

"Who is '**_we_**'?" Carter cleared his throat.

"But, as it turned out the group holding you made arrangements on this end. So here I am." Bob leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he looked out the window at the weather, starting to clear.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name, Bob…?" Luka fished for his last name.

The man smiled smugly at Luka. "If there's anything you need, just let me know. I'll see what I can do." He seemed almost annoyed that he had pulled this assignment as he kept glancing out the window as though trying to escape the smell the two doctors brought with them.

"I need some medical supplies for my friend here."

"Yes, I'm aware of that and I believe that they will be waiting at our connection point in Kampala. As soon as the weather clears we'll be boarding that plane over there, and… there's the pilot now." Bob stood and walked to the door of the office, waving the doctors along with him.

"Is Kampala a large city, with a hospital?" Carter quizzed the man. "Refugee camps?"

"Yes, it's the capital city and there are hospitals. In fact it's the only place in Uganda right now equipped to, or willing to, handle refugees. Getting there by land is the only problem. We've been experiencing some…" Bob paused to find the word, "…_situations _I'd like to avoid on the Karuma-Pakwach Road."

Half way out of the hanger Carter stopped the group and pointed at the woman with the three children, only two now alive. "I want them to come with us, get help in the city."

With a patronizing laugh Bob finally turned and gave the doctors his full attention. "Look, John…"

"His name is Dr. Carter," Luka said to the man quite seriously, "I don't think we know you well enough yet to be on a first name basis."

Bob rolled his eyes and squared his jaw smelling another _situation _he would just as soon avoid. "Dr. Carter, your humanitarian work here is done. My job is to get you to Germany and not play games doing it."

"Well," Luka sparked up, "if you want to complete your job then you'll let that family go with us on this leg of the trip." Bob was not impressed. "Because if they don't go, neither do we. Right Carter?" The two looked at each other nodding in agreement. "I mean, we could stay here."

The two rambled with each other sarcastically trying to make their point with Bob.

"Bob said they have a hospital," Carter matter-of-factly went on.

"I could find work here."

"Sure, while I recover. Gosh I hope they are equipped to handle my condition."

"Ouch! That could be a problem."

"Would hate to be the one to break the news of my death here to GW."

"You know the president?"

"Well, Senior and Bar, actually."

"Really?"

"My family hosted a $5,000 a plate fundraiser for him."

"Five thousand? That's impressive."

"Hey," Carter turned to Othiamba, "you guys know if the mainstream media gets here often?"

"In the movies, Bob, you people seem to always know lots of different languages. How about some Croatian? I could translate for you. _Sranje karanje picka pusac kurca pisanje jebac majke sise supak._"

Carter looked on, amused. "Now, _that's _impressive, Dr. Kovac."

"Stop," hands on hips the man was not happy, "You two are real comedians, aren't you? I'm sorry, but this is not the way it works."

"What are you? CIA operative? My guess is that we'll get out of here with or without you - _Bob_." Carter took on quite a bit of assertiveness. "Now, either we do this our way or not at all. I don't think getting this family to Kampala is too much to ask for from, by now, two well known freed Americans. Huh?"

With a reluctant nod of Bob's head, the two soldiers spoke with the woman and escorted her and the children with the rest of the men out onto the tarmac.

As Luka helped Carter bring up the rear they marveled at their new talent. "By the way," Carter asked, "what is it that you said to Bob back there?"

"You don't want to know."

"Oh, I do, I do."

"Another time, _John_."

A small plane ferried them from Pakwach to the capitol of Kampala. The plane normally flew in supplies and was obviously using this flight to its full advantage. Boxes and crates of food were scattered on the floor around the family. The soldiers stayed together in the back, leaving the doctors and Bob to the only seating off the floor: a crude bench seat that folded down from the wall. The bumpy ride made both doctors queezy. Bob, who rolled his eyes at the two, seemed to be used to it, or maybe he just a had a rock gut. Carter eventually leaned over and placed his head on his arms draped over his lap.

Luka noticed Carter's lack of enthusiasm for the ride and checked his vitals. This time Carter didn't object. His pulse was racing and he had a fever. Lifting up the back of his shirt, Luka saw the open, rotting wounds for the first time in a couple days and was stunned that Carter could have gotten as far as he did. On the other side of Carter, Bob couldn't help but see the open, infected remains of the torture as well as bigger older scars.

"What are those old ones from?" he asked Luka quietly.

"A psychotic patient tried to kill him."

"Refugee camp or Congolese prison?" Bob asked not sure if he really cared.

"Chicago emergency room."

Even tough guy Bob closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of commiseration.

Once there, Bob and Othiamba had to bear most of the load of Carter's weak body as they were transferred to an awaiting jet. Each step of the way they were rushed along as though a few minutes more would make a difference in the grand scheme of things, as Luka hung back chatting with the crew of the plane they had just arrived in as well as some on lookers.

Stopping at the bottom of the steps Carter put his arm around Bob's shoulders. "Bob, I'd like to thank you for your assistance. I assume that you'll get this family the proper help that Americans are known for."

"Dr. Carter, I'm to deliver you to the hands of the state department in Germany."

"So you've told us." Carter looked up at the outside of the jet and pointed to the fancy logo. "See that? This is a private jet and I'm going to go out on a limb and not invite you aboard. If its money you need…"

"No, no money, but…"

Luka jogged to the jet and helped Carter up the steps. "Turn around Bob and wave." Luka and Carter smiled and waved at the people standing at the other airplane watching them, including a couple of photographers. Bob hesitantly joined them, lowing his head and obscuring his face behind Luka. "Those wonderful people are very grateful to you for what you will be doing for our little family here."

"Thanks again." Carter stepped up into the plane and signaled the co-pilot standing back with him to pull up the stairs. "We'll make sure to tell the media back home what a fine job you did. They'll want to do a big story on the family, so you better get them all buffed up. See you around, Bob."

"God," Bob snickered and mumbled to himself, "I hope not."

At the last minute, Luka was handed a bag of medical supplies. Once in the air, he set up a crude IV and after a few very uncomfortable tries, got a line started on Carter's frail veins.

"Are you sorry you came?" Luka asked.

"No. I don't regret what I have done; only what I haven't done."

Luka gave him a smile understanding Carter's tribute to Joseph but it went unnoticed as Carter looked back at the papers he was reading.

"Ten thousand." Carter read aloud. "_Ten thousand children _forced to become mini warriors in the Congo."

"Where'd you get that?"

"The State Department papers. They were in my pack."

Luka sat back and tried to reassure him. "You know Carter, there are a lot of people who want to do good. There is still goodness out there. Don't let what happened to us and what we saw taint you." Carter continued to stare at the papers. "Even Jules, huh? He let us go after all."

"He didn't just let us go," Carter smirked. "Did you see the jet? It's an Emerson-Hasche jet."

"Yeah, so? Maybe they do a lot of business here."

Carter's head still hung low. "Emerson-Hasche Corporation doesn't do business in Africa. It's a subsidiary of SJK Industries. My grandfather was the major stockholder, and now my father and I are." Carter crumpled up the page he was reading and threw it on the floor. "We were liberated from our captors by a board of directors who authorized payment."


	20. Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

**POCKET CHANGE  
by Sharon R.**

_**Chapter Twenty  
**__**Mirror, Mirror on the Wall**_

Carter's head still hung low. "Emerson-Hasche Corporation doesn't do business in Africa. It's a subsidiary of SJK Industries. My grandfather was the major stockholder, and now my father and I are." Carter crumpled up the page he was reading and threw it on the floor. "We were liberated from our captors by a board of directors who authorized payment."

About an hour into the flight, a tall, clean shaven, uniformed man came back into the cabin: the pilot. "Gentlemen, my name is Mike and my co-pilot and I will be flying you to Germany. Representatives of the State Department will meet you there. Once we arrive, the military will take over and you will go to the hospital on base where you will have a counselor with you at all times. "

"Why didn't the U.S. military meet us back there?" Luka asked.

"I can't get into specifics except to say that they were under the assumption that you would be led to Kinshasa."

Carter cleared his throat and tried to buck up his composure, Carter style. "Mike, I assume you work for SJK."

The pilot nodded.

"Then you know who I am?"

Another nod.

"Good. Could you get me a phone? Might as well get my money's worth."

Luka went back to the rear of the plane and stepped into the small bathroom. The mirror was so small he barely saw his entire face in it, but from what he saw, he was not inclined to even want to see the rest. He splashed water on his face and through his hair, enough to refresh him a bit, but not really make a difference. When he came out Carter motioned for him.

"There has been a change in flight plans. We're going to land in Paris and change planes. From there we'll go straight to Chicago. None of this debriefing crap in Germany." For once Carter would use his name and money for what **he** wanted.

"What about the State Department?" Luka asked.

"This is a private jet. I can go wherever I want."

"How are you feeling?" Luka checked his pulse and handed him a warm washcloth, something he hadn't had in the palm of his hand for some time. Tipping his head back, Carter covered his face with the cloth preferring the moist, blind warmth to the site of his own body. "Do you feel like eating? I could see what they have in the galley."

"Maybe later." Carter removed the cloth and wiped his hands with it before giving it back to Luka. "Poor Bob. We were hard on him."

"Yeah, well... I guess we were kind of punchy." Luka smiled. "He was just doing his job. Do you think what we did mattered?"

"It mattered to me."

It was several hours before they arrived in Paris, then once on the Carter Foundation jet they were off on their next and final leg of the trip. They sat apart, at opposite ends of the jet. The lone IV had long ago run out and Luka put a hep lock on it until they could get to Chicago. Carter was completely unable to sleep, instead looking out the window at the clouds and leafing mindlessly through magazines he found beside him, like Fortune 500.

"Can't you sleep?" Luka sneaked up front.

"I don't know how anymore." The steady hum of the jet engines was barely noticeable over Carter's memories of jungle creatures and artillery. "It's so… so… quiet, and smooth, and… just quiet." Carter talked in very low tones as they had done in the hut, almost to himself, as his hands moved over the soft leather chair and shiny man-made plastic and metal. "And it smells so different."

"It's called clean. Something we're not." Luka chuckled. Squatting down, he picked up the phone tucked into the lounge chair Carter was reclined in. Before he could get to his feet again, Carter grabbed his wrist and spoke quietly, his head drooped down as close to Luka's ear as it could get.

"I think I soiled myself," he mentioned quietly, hoping the one female flight attendant couldn't hear him.

"It's okay." Luka knew that their conditions were more than obvious to the well kept, well slept, healthy woman, but he let Carter think that his secret was safe. "Let's get you cleaned up. Can you make it to the bathroom?"

"I don't know - my arms feel like mush and my legs are real crampy."

Luka bent over and, wrapping his arms around Carter's chest, lifted him to his feet. The fancy corporate jet had relatively few seats, but they were large, leather, and reclined nicely. Unfortunately, without rows of seats to lean on, Carter's walk up front would be more challenging.

The thin lady, Susie, who Carter recognized from previous trips and had even taken to dinner a couple of times, walked back to offer her assistance. "John, can I be of help?" Embarrassed, Carter shook his head hoping that she would disappear quickly and quietly.

Luka helped him into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, allowing some privacy. A real bathroom. Carter turned the water on and off a few times, marveling at the availability at 37,000 feet after weeks of relying solely on what bottled water was tossed at them. The face in the mirror looked more like his father's or grandfather's than his. His growth of beard was careless and unhealthy, his skin tight from the sun. And his eyes…. kind of flat. A stranger stared back at him.

"Carter?" Luka knocked on the door startling him. "Can you open the door?"

Carter reached over and threw the privacy latch but remained leaning against the sink vanity for support.

"The flight crew was nice enough to go through their on-board luggage and find some clean clothes for us. They didn't have much, just shirts and boxer shorts, some socks." Carter nodded and put the clothes on the vanity. The silence between the two was broken only by the subtle jolt by turbulence. "Carter? You okay?"

"Yeah, I… I just need help with… I can't get my pants down."

"Oh. Well, let's see." Luka reached down and worked on the rope that Carter had used as a belt, a rope that over time had been given more slack at the end as it was cinched tighter. "There," the rope fell open, "is there anything else…?"

"No," Carter's broken pride was obvious, "I can take I from here, I think." As Luka backed up to allow the door to close, Carter abruptly reached out to hold it open. "Luka," he paused and shook his head as if to find lost words, "thank you. There's… not a whole lot of dignity in this and…"

"That's okay, I understand. We're going home." Luka held up the phone. "I'm going to make some calls. Do you want to see Abby when we get there?"

"**No**." Carter shook his head. "We left on bad terms. This - she wouldn't be able to handle." At that point he didn't care. He just wanted to get home, even if it was to be alone. He wasn't going to be Abby's volunteer anymore, her chosen enabler.

"How about your parents? Hmmm? They can even meet us at the airport."

That thought made Carter chuckle. "**_No. Definitely not_**. They only do things that are neat and tidy, and this… No."

With the door closed Carter dropped his pants and stepped out of what was left of his own boxers. Sitting down on the toilet he grabbed the white button down shirt and held it to his face. Soft, clean and the smell of laundry soap. Pressed with no wrinkles, it was something he so took for granted before. Out of habit he looked at the tag - it was even his size.

He couldn't even go to the bathroom. Even after the 1000cc of IV fluid, the bit that he had piddled in his pants was all the output he could muster. He couldn't get the old shirt off, didn't want to even try. Instead he just put the new dress shirt on over it leaving it open in the front. He slipped into the cotton boxers and pulled up his tattered and soiled pants. On his three steps to the door he stopped to gain his balance and abate the dizziness. The mirror reached out and grabbed his attention once more, this time pointing out that the gloriously clean shirt draping his shoulders engulfed his fragile torso. Too big. The thought of having to buy all new clothes when he got home annoyed him at first, then brought a smile to his face.

Exiting the bathroom, he was determined to make it back to his seat by himself. He spied Luka on the phone and wondered if he was talking to Abby. As he got closer to him, though, he recognized the flowing Croatian language, and the smile on Luka's face gave away who was on the other end.

"Do you need help?" Luka covered the phone as he interrupted his conversation. But Carter just mouthed a polite 'no' and continued on to his seat in the middle of the plane. He was tired - so tired and finally felt ready to admit that he was not well. Reclining back in the oversized seat he let himself drift off to a deep disturbing sleep - one filled with images of rebels armed with guns and machetes. Jules smacking his teeth and "Romano" giving torture lessons to the younger man courtesy of Carter's back. All of the sounds of the jungle, nature and man-made, echoed through his head.

After he was through talking with his father - his relieved father - Luka sought out Susie. "Do you have any food?"

Susie was in the galley getting coffee for the crew. "We have some, but not much. We were on a layover at the European headquarters in Zurich when we got the call." She opened the galley doors looking for snacks. "We barely had time to get to Paris and grabbed a few prepackaged items from the corporate lounge. Let's see," she pulled out some sandwiches, crackers, peanut packages, fruit, and finally frozen store bought dinners. "I'm not sure if there is anything you like."

Luka picked at the limited choices and finally settled. "How about the bananas and crackers. Could you warm up the chicken and rice from the dinners?"

Luka walked back into the cabin and found Carter asleep but unsettled. He slept so lightly that Luka's approach alone jolted him awake.

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"That's okay. I don't know when I'll be able to sleep with both eyes closed again."

Luka put the banana and crackers in front of Carter. "You need to see if you can keep anything down." Carter pushed the food away.

"Here you go." Susie put a plate of chicken and rice in front of him and a linen napkin in his lap, as if his pants needed protecting.

"Rice?" Carter grimaced. On a good day in captivity he was given a meager ration of boiled rice and chopped fish.

"Yeah," Luka smiled, "not a lot of choice, but it's as bland as it gets."

"I know." Carter picked up the fork and played with his food, putting a few grains of the rice in his mouth before retiring the meal. "I bet your father was glad to hear from you."

Luka sat on the arm of the chair across from Carter eating a banana. "Very happy." The broad smile that he harbored when telling stories of his father had made a return. "He had to get most of his information from watching television, but he did get a visit from the American ambassador last night with the news of our release."

Carter was happy for Luka and he managed a courteous smile, but he was also envious.

"So, fess up Luka. What was it you said to Bob back there?"

Luka leaned in and whispered in Carter's ear, gleaning a rare hearty laugh from his friend.

"You're bad," Carter chided.

"Yep. That's what they say." Luka got up and moved to the seat in front of Carter. "I have one more call to make. Why don't you try to get some sleep."

Carter moved the tray of uneaten food to the table next to him and reclined the seat for the remainder of the trip, listening to Luka's end of the phone call.

"Hello. Yes. Is Dr. Weaver there?"

"This is an emergency."

"Yes it is."

"It's good to talk to you too."

"No, don't. I don't want anyone else to know."

"Thank you, I know."

"Okay, but… but…" Luka sighed and rolled his eyes.

"No, no Kerry, I'm sorry. It's Luka, I'm trying to keep this very quiet."

"Yes, yes, we are on our way back to Chicago."

"We're about six hours out, I'm guessing, on a Carter jet. Kerry, we'll need transport from Midway. Carter needs medical attention."

"He has been, yes."

"No. No, I don't think it would be a good idea. He specifically asked not to see anyone, especially Abby."

"Kerry, thank you. I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself as much as possible. He has," Luka paused as he purposely decided to include himself, "**_we_** have been through a lot."


	21. Welcome to Chicago

_**POCKET CHANGE  
**by Sharon R._

_**Chapter Twenty-One  
**__**Welcome to Chicago**_

The hustle and bustle at County General's ER was about par for a Saturday morning. When the phone rang, Randi picked it up, pissed that she had to cover Jerry's shift while he was on vacation.

"ER." She popped her gum between breaths. Abby was just finishing her night shift and getting ready to leave as she racked up the charts at the other end of the desk area.

"Yeah, but she's with patients this morning. I can take a message."

"Is this Dr. Kovac?" She nearly swallowed her gum as she quietly quizzed the party on the other end of phone."

"Wow, it's great to hear your voice."

"Dr. Weaver is here. You want me to tell her you're on the phone?"

"Okay. I can keep a secret."

"I'll tell her it's Dr. Lawrence." With great swiftness, Randi put Luka on hold and walked over to Kerry who was at the board.

"Um, Dr. Weaver. There's a phone call for you."

"I told you, Randi, take a message. I'm too busy this morning to deal with administrative stuff."

"Um, it's Dr. Lawrence."

"Gabe Lawrence?" Last she knew he was in the second stage of Alzheimer's.

"Yeah. He, ah, wants you to take the call in the lounge. Line three."

Kerry took no time getting to the lounge and picked up the phone. Behind her, Abby came in and started changing out of her lab coat.

"Gabe?"

"**_Luka!_** Is Carter with you?"

Abby's focus immediately changed to Kerry.

"When?"

"Is he in serious condition?"

"Okay. I'll take care of it. I'll have an ambulance meet you. I'll call his family."

"Well, alright, I understand."

"That's no problem. Luka, I'm glad to hear that you're coming home."

Kerry hung up and sat still taking in what she had just heard and breathing relief after the weeks of worry the staff had been through.

"That was Luka?" Abby butted in, startling Kerry.

"Abby! Ah, yes, but he doesn't want anyone to know. They are on their way and he wants it kept very quiet." Kerry stumbled, having just discovered that Abby was there the whole time.

"They?"

"Yes, Carter too. But…"

"Are they okay?" Abby's emotions finally softened as her worry over their disappearance and then kidnapping became worry over their health.

"Carter needs medical attention, I'm guessing they both do. They're coming here at about," Kerry looked at her watch, "one or two o'clock."

Abby nodded her head looking at her own watch, making plans.

"But, Abby, he doesn't want to see you. Not even his family. Not just yet. I'm sorry. They've, well, you've seen the news from the Congo, and they've been…." Kerry wasn't good at this, "… he has to take the steps himself. He'll see you when he's ready. But first things first. Let's get them healthy. Okay?"

Kerry got up and left leaving Abby by herself.

(Lyrics to a few lines of Let Me Fallsung by JoshGroban and written by James Corcoran and Jutras Benoit previously properly attributed, deleted as per new regulations by site administrators 5/3/05. The complete original text of Pocket Change can be found at LUKAFIC)

As Kerry walked back to the admit desk she heard the television news anchor blaring from the normally muted TV.

_"…. were reported to have been released by rebel troops sometime yesterday…"_

The staff was crowded at the front of the desk looking up at the wall mounted set. When Luka's and Carter's staff ID photos, pictures the news agencies had used almost daily since the kidnapping, were finally capped next to the anchor, the staff erupted in thunderous cheers and applause.

_"Luka Kovac, a native of Croatia, and John Carter, both physicians at Cook County General Hospital's emergency department had been volunteering their services in the war torn Democratic Republic of Congo before being kidnapped twenty-nine days ago._

A new picture brought the celebration to a halt as the staff let their triumphant fists fall from the air and hushed their voices. The grainy photo was disturbing, showing a thin and bloodied Luka, obviously aiding a frail Carter into an airplane.

_"Seen here at an undisclosed location prior to leaving the African continent, the details of the doctors' return to the states has not yet been released. However, a source at the state department has confirmed that Kovac and Carter are, indeed, in the hands of American officials and are being flown to Germany to receive much needed medical treatment."_

"Did you see the news, Dr. Weaver?" Randi quietly asked her. "When are they getting back here?"

"Soon. Keep things quiet, Randi," Kerry mumbled to her on the sly. "Let's get back to work, people."

Skirting around a myriad of questions from the staff, Kerry escaped into the quiet of the elevator on her way up to notify Romano and Anspaugh of the phone call.

By mid afternoon things had quieted down in preparation for the inevitable Saturday night crunch. It was a good time for some staff to take breaks. Kerry had briefed a few of the doctors and nurses, keeping them to a promise of secrecy. The ambulance backed in the bay, the first to get out was Luka who stopped to take in the warm Chicago afternoon with blue sky all around.

"Luka? What's wrong?" Kerry was the first outside.

"No rain." He smiled at Kerry.

"Well, that's good. Because it rained almost the whole time you were gone."

"Yeah, it sure did."

Carter's gurney was pulled out and the group headed into the ER. They all tried to look happy as they greeted Luka and Carter for the first time in weeks, but their stark, thin frames, battered clothing and bodies was more than they had prepared themselves for. After the initial "good to see you" and "welcome home", not much more was said. Not far behind, two men in business suits ran after them right into the trauma area where Dr. Romano headed them off in the doorway, turning his back on the two.

"Well," he glanced back and forth between Luka and Carter, "I see Batman and Robin have returned to the bat cave. Dr. Weaver and I will take Carter. Susan, you and Gallant can see to Luka's needs next door."

"We need to talk to these two doctors." The larger of the strange men announced.

"Really?" countered Romano. "And who are you two jokers?" His dwarfed size compared to the government officials' was misleading at best.

"We are with the State Department. Seems the doctors bypassed the planned stop in Germany. And you are?"

"You can call me Alfred. Now get out of my cave." Romano slammed the double doors in their faces before turning his attention to Carter.

Next door Luka sat on the examining table while Susan looked him over and Gallant took his vitals.

"So what were you doing in the Congo?" Susan awkwardly asked while checking his head wound. She knew what he was doing there and what had happened but just couldn't come up with anything else to ask him.

Luka looked down and smiled. "Just trying to keep the change from making the hole in my pocket any bigger than it already is, I guess."

"Huh?" It was never meant for Susan to understand, but it gave Luka encouragement. "We need to have plastics take a look at this. It looks like it has been a few days since it happened. I'd also like to get some IV fluids and antibiotics on board."

Luka wasn't paying attention as he looked through the window at Carter who sat up on the bed between the other nurses and doctors. He wasn't saying much at all as the doctors and nurses bustled around him getting vitals, hooking up his IV line to new fluids, drawing blood and generally talking over him. It reminded Luka of how Mbuto stood like a statue among the chaos of the war around him. Numb.

"Dr. Lewis," Randi popped her head in the door, "there's a call for you at the desk. Said it was very important."

"Okay. I'll be right back." After Susan left, Luka slipped off the table and into the trauma room next door.

"John, we need to get your shirt off so we can start another line, okay?" Kerry's gentle attempts to get him to undress were met with a halting Carter who tried to get a word in edgewise among everyone who was tending to him. Lilly had to maneuver around Romano and Weaver to replace the O2 mask that the paramedics had put on him with a nasal cannula.

"I… I can't."

"Haleh, lets prep him for a central line. I'll call the pharmacy and order a hyperalimentation after I see his labs." Kerry could feel Carter's ribs through his shirt. "How's your appetite? Nauseus?"

Carter nodded. "Yeah, but…"

"We'll need a urine sample, Dr. Kildare. Can you give us one?" Romano was the same callous man.

"I… um, not yet, but…"

"Oh, for crying out loud. Come on Carter, we've all seen it before. Off with the shirt." Romano was busy ordering x-rays and lab tests. The last thing he needed was a modest patient. "Arms up."

Carter cleared his throat. "I really…" He just gave up trying.

"Let's add an All-in-One, get some calories into you." Kerry moved behind Carter.

"Robert?" Kerry motioned for him to come to the head of the bed where she had lifted Carter's shirt in the back. The two gazed at the multitude of bruises, scars and open, oozing wounds, some infected that covered his back. Even Romano was taken aback as he looked away, closed his eyes and sighed.

"You'll have to cut the shirt off." Luka had come into the room through the adjoining door. He looked at Carter for permission to speak for him. Carter nodded once. "He can't lift his arms over his head yet. They…" He paused to pull from himself the last bit of strength to describe what he would just as soon forget, and dropped his head down, focusing on the floor. "They… uh… " With all eyes on Luka, he suddenly felt self-conscious about describing the hell Carter had endured while he sat with Jules being brainwashed with food and water. "One of the things they did was to hang him by his arms."

His head still hung low, Luka lifted just his eyes to hopefully meet up with Carter's. But as the staff silently went back to work on their patient Carter sat motionless as he cracked a half smile of humiliation.

There was no need to explain further as his shirt was carefully cut away. Some pieces had to be removed from within the wounds themselves. Although they had treated wounds far greater in severity, their personal connection with Carter made this trauma particularly upsetting. Lilly had to turn away to regain her composure. Haleh flushed and then hooked up fluids to the line Luka had originally started on the jet. Nobody talked. They were afraid to hear any more, not wanting to see the pictures in their heads that Luka had just placed there. Carter remained in his position at the mercy of the people around him. Something he had become accustomed to.

"Is there anything else we should know?" Kerry quietly asked Luka.

"He had seizures, bad ones. Grand mal. Could have been from head injuries, but just as easily dehydration." Carter was glad he didn't have to talk about it. "And he was severely beaten in the torso. They really spared no part of his body."

Nobody wanted to say it, but they all wondered how Carter could have taken such a beating but not Luka. The smell of body odor, urine and general filth was overwhelming, and in the aseptic environment of the hospital it was all too obvious to Carter and Luka.

Haleh finally put her hand on his leg and gave him one of her rare but brilliant smiles. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I want to get cleaned up." Carter broke his silence.

"John, we need to get you to CT." Kerry, Betadine swabs in hand, was about to start the central line when he pushed her arms out of the way.

"Please."

"This can wait a little longer," Robert allowed, "I'll get someone to help you."

Haleh helped Carter into a clean hospital gown trying hard to divert her eyes from the obvious marks of torture he had brought back with him.

"No, I just want to be alone."

"John," Kerry was soft spoken, "you can't do this alone."

"I'll go with him." Luka stepped back into the other trauma room and grabbed a wheelchair.

Together with Carter and the IV pole, they wheeled down the hall to the room that had the shower, Romano close behind. Luka didn't waste time getting there. It was going to be hard for them to be a part of civilization again.

"I guess we missed a lot while we were gone." They both laughed at their inside joke as a one-armed Romano held the door open.

"Seems you two are hot items. Keep it short," Romano barked.

With his head bowed, Carter couldn't resist. "Jebac majke." Luka gave him an ataboy on the back as he stifled a laugh.

"I heard that," yelled Romano as the door swung closed.

The door between the dressing area and the shower room had a window in it so Luka parked Carter on a shower chair with his back to it just in case. Malik motioned to him through the window as he put down clean towels and gowns on the bed in the outer room. Luka carefully removed the hospital gown and then went to work on the pants. What didn't fall off in pieces remained behind attached to the makeshift waistband Carter had re-tied on the airplane.

"It will be okay, Carter. We made it too." Luka took the showerhead and started washing, the chest first then the shoulders. Carter could at least manage the washcloth. The warm water was nice, and blended well with the silent tears that came from nowhere.

Luka stepped in front of Carter to work on his hair when he saw Abby in the window. With her one hand to her mouth, the other on the glass, she stood with the look of shock and repulsion as Carter's back was bared to her from the bottom up. She and Luka shared secret looks outside of Carter's view then she motioned to her side. There standing at the door were Carter's parents. Luka nodded at Abby and she opened the door for John's father. When he reach his son in the chair, Luka handed over the showerhead and quietly left the room.

Mr. Carter picked up where Luka left off, John cradling his aching arms to his abdomen like a newborn baby. John felt a familiar hand on his shoulder and looked up to see his father. "Your mother is here too, outside." He motioned to the door where John's mother stood with the same expression Abby had had. When her eyes met her son's she subtly kissed her fingertips and placed them on the glass between them.

By the time Luka made it to the hallway, Abby was gone. He wanted to talk to her. Suddenly Susan, wearing trauma gear - yellow gown, eye shield, gloves and mask - came from behind with a wheelchair, Malik in matching attire behind her. She pushed Luka into the chair and threw a surgical mask at him.

"Here, put this on."

"What are you…?"

"Shush, just do it!" As soon as she said that, the two suits appeared.

"Dr. Kovac, we **have** to talk to you. It's a matter of great importance."

"Stay back," Susan yelled, "this man has a rare tropical disease. **_Very_** contagious."

"What?" The men took a few steps back. "But, we have to…"

"Dr. Malik will tell you all about it, but you can't be near the patient."

With that, Malik stepped up and ushered them down the adjoining hallway to Sutures. As they walked away from them, Luka could hear Malik playing the game with the government men. "You see, External Occipital Protuberance disease is very rare, extremely contagious, and found only in Africa. You should check with the CDC for the morbidity rate. Just how close did you get to them?"

Susan took Luka to the elevator. "Sorry, but they are quite persistent. By the way, I took a call for you from someone named Sean." This perked Luka up. "He said to tell you that he found your package and that he gave it to tumor to take care of. Is that right?"

This was great news for Luka. "Toomay," this brought a long lost smile to Luka's face. "Her name is Toomay and that is **very** right. Could you please tell Carter?"

"Here we go." Susan wheeled Luka onto the maternity floor. "I thought you could get a good private shower up here. Got your own room with some scrubs waiting."

She went as fast as she could just in case the suits were behind her. As they passed the nursery, Luka reached out to the glass window and asked her to stop. He just wanted to see the newborns with the healthy bellies and feisty attitudes. Some crying as they awaited their mother's nourishing milk, others sleeping peacefully.

Peace.

THE END


End file.
